


'67 Chevy Soundtracks

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Song fics, various seasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2018-10-20 22:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 48,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10672509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Collection of one shots set to song lyrics.Latest: Ch. 17 “Sound the Bugle” - Castiel has nothing left to give.





	1. "Murder Incorporated" - Bruce Springsteen

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: A while back Miyth sent me a list of songs that would make interesting tracks for fics, and I finally tried my hand at some. So this is where I'll be posting them. They're going to be a variety of original one shots, episode tags, and some introspective pieces. Thank you Miyth and 29Pieces for beta reading this first one!  
> Supernatural and the song lyrics are not mine.
> 
> Song: "Murder Incorporated" by Bruce Springsteen  
> Setting: Season 5  
> Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Bobby  
> Summary: When Cas gets captured by demons, nothing is going to stop the Winchesters from rescuing him.

_Bobby's got a gun that he keeps beneath his pillow  
_ _Out on the street your chances are zero_

Bobby bolted upright in bed, whipping his .38 out from under his pillow and pointing it at the shadowy intruder. It took him a split moment to recognize the tan trench coat.

"You got a death wish?" he scowled, shoving the gun back in its place as he reached his other hand up to rub his eyes.

"Those bullets wouldn't hurt me," Cas replied. He sounded oddly tired. "Especially not here, in your dream."

"In my what?" Bobby jerked ramrod straight again, only to realize he'd swung his legs over the side of the bed—on his own, without having to lift them with his hands. He glanced around for his wheelchair, but it wasn't there. Other than that, his house looked exactly the same as he'd fallen asleep to…save for some igneous tinges around the window frames that simmered like brimstone. Bobby made a point of not looking outside. With Cas here, the usual screams in the distance were mercifully silent.

"I haven't been able to reach Dean or Sam," Cas continued. He was staying starkly still, which wasn't new for the angel, but there was definitely a certain weariness to his posture.

"They're on a hunt," Bobby said.

Castiel nodded slowly. "I need you to warn them."

Bobby surged to his feet. Damn, he missed his legs. The nightmares where he was still stuck in that chair while the world burned were the worst—and all too close to their actual future. "Warn them about what?"

"Some demons have set a trap. You need to tell Sam and Dean to stay away."

_Balls_ , Bobby mentally cursed. "What kind of trap? And how do you know about it?"

Cas swayed slightly. "I'm…I'm the bait," he ground out.

Bobby's brows shot upward. "Excuse me?"

Castiel shook his head in apparent vexation. "I was careless and got caught. The demons will try to lure the Winchesters in, so you have to warn them."

"Warn them to stay away?" Bobby repeated dubiously. "And what about you?"

"Hopefully the demons will tire of waiting eventually," Cas said, defeated weariness heavy in his tone. "I have to go. It takes too much energy to maintain the dream link."

"Cas, wait—" The angel vanished, and Bobby's eyes snapped open to the exact same place in his study, only he was lying on the bed again, and when he pushed himself up, his legs didn't respond and the wheelchair was right by his bed where he'd left it. The windows were still dark with night, but no blazes reflected off the glass from the fields.

"Damn self-sacrificing angel," he muttered as he snatched up his phone and dialed Dean. The line clicked after two rings.

"Hey, Bobby, we just finished the hunt," Dean greeted.

"Good, because I've got another one for ya."

"Come on," Dean whined. "We've been working practically nonstop here, Bobby."

"Yeah, well, your angel went and got himself captured by demons," he snipped.

That shut Dean up for a moment. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Bobby explained about Cas's little dream visit and stupid request for Sam and Dean to stay away.

"I'm gonna kill him," Dean growled.

"You have to rescue the idgit first," Bobby pointed out. "Just be careful. Cas didn't say how many demons were involved."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter how many," Dean replied. "Those sons-of-bitches don't know who they're messing with."

_Take a look around you (come on now)_  
_It ain't too complicated  
_ _You're messin' with Murder Incorporated_

Dean loaded the magazine with bullets and slid it into his gun with a click. Then he set it aside and reached into the weapons duffel to pull out an angel blade. It was nice having two things they could kill demons with, instead of only the demon-killing knife.

Dean grabbed Sam's handgun and loaded its magazine as well while Sam tapped determinedly at the buttons on his phone.

"Okay, I found Cas's GPS. Matches the address we got."

Shortly after hanging up with Bobby, Dean had gotten a text from Cas that had an address and a cryptic, " _Come now._ " Dean hadn't bothered responding.

"How long?" he asked.

Sam's brow furrowed as he did the mental calculation. "Three hours."

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked. Three hours more in addition to who knew how many Cas had already been in the hands of demons.

He packed up their readied weapons and grabbed the duffel. "Let's go."

_Do you check over your shoulder everywhere that you go_  
_Walkin' down the street, there's eyes in every shadow  
_ _Take a look around you (come on now)_

Sam's footsteps echoed loudly in the dark alley as he cautiously made his way toward the abandoned building in the rear where Cas's phone was pinging from. The night was chilly with a brisk breeze that sent pieces of trash skittering across the asphalt like rats. Something rattled from behind, and Sam froze to cast a wary look over his shoulder. At the mouth of the alleyway, a streetlight buzzed.

Sam turned forward again, and went rigid as he came face to face with a black-eyed, burly man. There was a scuffing sound, and Sam twisted to find a second demon slipping into the space behind him. This one wore a brunette meatsuit whose red lips pulled upward in a minacious smile.

"About time you showed up," she purred. "We were beginning to think you didn't care about the feather duster at all. He certainly kept insisting you wouldn't come." She clucked her tongue. "Guess he was wrong."

Sam clenched his fists. "Where is he?"

"Inside." The demon waggled her brows. "We'll show you."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Actually, I can find my own way in, thanks. You, you can go to Hell."

She snorted. "Honey, you're a fish caught in a net. What are you gonna do—" She didn't finish her sentence.

_That equipment you got's so outdated_  
_You can't compete with Murder Incorporated  
_ _Everywhere you look now, Murder Incorporated_

Dean stepped in behind the brunette demon and rammed the angel blade through her throat. She cut off mid-sentence from whatever crap she was giving Sam, body arching as orange lightning fritzed throughout her skeleton.

Sam surged forward, whipping out the demon-killing knife, and stabbed the other demon in the chest before he could even think of making a move. Both lit up with flashing ocher, and Dean and Sam pulled their blades out at the same time. The demons dropped to the ground.

Sam lifted his gaze to Dean's. "He's in there."

Dean tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade. _We're coming, Cas_.

_So you keep a little secret down deep inside your dresser drawer  
_ _For dealing with the heat you're feelin' out on the killin' floor_

Castiel bit back a cry and tried to curl in on himself as another fiery brand was jabbed into his shoulder. The smell of singed fabric and charred flesh wafted up to burn his nostrils, coupled with the pain of his true form being seared. The demons had coated metal prods in holy oil before bringing the tips to a smolder. And Castiel couldn't escape their poking, trapped in a circle of holy fire already. He'd been brought to his knees hours ago, and finally the pain and exhaustion had been too much, and now he was a wretched ball on the floor, the edges of the fire ring licking at his wings no matter how hard he tried to tuck them in.

He longed for deliverance. For the divine retribution of his garrison swooping in to smite every last piece of vermin where they stood.

But that was not going to happen. Castiel would not call out to his brothers for help, anyway, as they were likely to come and simply do worse than this. No one was coming for him. He hoped the demons would grow bored eventually, especially if he didn't give them the satisfaction of a full scream.

Everything burned, and Castiel's vision had dimmed to nothing but the writhing flames of Hell roaring up around him. Soon it would consume him.

_We're coming, Cas_ , filtered faintly through his mind, muffled by the cackling echoing in his ears.

It was a nice wish, one he only let himself hope for in the secret depths of his heart. Maybe if he let himself believe it, too, he could drown out the rest until it was over.

_No matter where you step you feel you're never out of danger  
_ _So the comfort that you keep's a gold-plated snub-nose thirty-two_

Dean and Sam swept into the building with fluid synchronization. The demons weren't even trying to hide, confident in their outer sentinels. That was their second mistake. The first was taking Cas.

Dean's blood turned to ice at the sight of the angel on the ground, trapped in a ring of holy fire as a demon stalked around the edge, jabbing him with a smoldering iron. Three other demons were laughing and jeering, too absorbed to notice their perimeter had been breached.

Dean whipped out his gun and emptied the magazine into the demon torturing Cas. It wouldn't kill the bastard, but it'd be enough to put a stop to the games. The other demons whirled in shock and dismay. Dean and Sam charged forward, each stabbing a demon before they could react. The third threw himself at Dean, knocking them both to the floor. Dean tried to get his arm up enough to wield the angel blade, but the demon grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the concrete.

Sam darted in and thrust the demon-killing knife into the demon's side, right between the ribs. He gasped and jerked, body flashing with dying throes. Sam kicked the dead demon away as Dean scrambled to his feet, just as the last demon was getting up, eyes flicking black with rage as it stumbled forward, torso riddled with holes.

"I liked this meatsuit," he spat, and waved his arm.

An invisible force knocked Dean's legs out from under him and sent him flying into the wall. He hit with a harsh thwack and then fell to the floor with a thud. Sam was a sprawled mass of limbs a few feet away.

Dean gritted his teeth and tried to get up, but with a flick of his wrist, the demon had him pinned. Dammit!

The demon stalked around the edge of the holy fire. "You know, we really only need Lucifer's vessel alive. You, I'm sure he'd accept as a head mounted on a pike." The demon crooked his fingers, and Dean felt a pressure closing over his throat.

From inside the ring of fire, Cas suddenly pushed himself up, and shot a hand out over the wall of flames. He threw his head back with a guttural scream as the fire seemed to surge with glee, spurring up around his arm, but Cas didn't stop until he'd yanked the demon down to fall across the flames, and then the bastard was screaming too.

The pressure on Dean's throat vanished, and he surged to his feet just as Sam did. The demon rolled out of the flames, shrieking as they continued to lap at his body. Dean adjusted his grip on his angel blade, and jumped in to deliver a killing blow, yanking the weapon out just as quickly so he wouldn't get burned. The demon fell limp, orange lightning melding with the flames still crackling over him.

Dean whirled toward Cas, who was laying on the ground again and clutching his burned arm to his chest. "Cas!" He leaped over the flames, harmless to humans, and dropped down next to the angel. "Cas, hey, we're here. We got you."

Cas's eyelids dragged open. The last of the flames dancing in his pupils died down as Sam slapped a piece of canvas over the ring to extinguish it. Then he was crouching down next to Cas as well.

"Oh god," Sam choked.

Dean's jaw was tight as he surveyed Cas's injuries—dozens of burns across his entire body, small, probably from the smoldering iron. The worst was his hand and arm, inflamed and charred from Cas pulling the demon down like that.

"Dean," Cas rasped. "Sam…" He licked his lips. "Are you…real?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "And we're getting you out of here."

_You got a job downtown, man it leaves your head cold_  
_And everywhere you look life ain't got no soul  
_ _That apartment you live in feels like it's just a place to hide_

Dean had to drive a ways to get out of the bad part of town and find a motel with enough distance between them and demon central in case more showed up. He would have preferred to go straight to Bobby's, but Cas needed patching up, badly. By the time they got him into a room, he still wasn't healing, and his jaw was clenched so tightly in obvious pain that his face was practically bloodless. Dean wanted to know what bastard had given those demons the idea to use holy fire on an angel.

He and Sam settled into the rhythm that came from years of post-hunts: setting out the first aid and supplies in the order each item would be needed, filling a bowl with water and laying out the motel towels. Dean had even grabbed a bottle of whiskey out of habit, only to realize that wasn't going to do Cas much good. Shit, Dean didn't want him to have to be awake and lucid for this.

Cas was leaning back against the headboard, eyes squeezed shut with an intense pinch between his brows.

"Hey, man," Dean said, "this is gonna hurt, but I don't think we have anything strong enough to take the edge off for you."

Cas opened his eyes, and there was a brief flicker of fear in them before his expression hardened staunchly. "It won't be worse than…before," he said carefully, as though enunciating each word took effort.

Yeah, well, that didn't make Dean feel any better about it. He took a seat on one edge of the bed, Sam on the other, and together they started helping Cas out of the trench coat, suit jacket, and dress shirt. It would have been easier to just cut them off, but somehow that seemed sacrilegious. Cas gritted his teeth and stoically endured it, only grunting when the rough fabric brushed over raw flesh, despite how careful the Winchesters were trying to be.

The burns were worse when fully exposed, and Dean had to pause to quell his roiling anger. Sam's jaw ticked with equal wrath. But they both put it aside and began methodically working their way down Cas's injuries. Dean started on the arm first, because it was the worst.

Cas hissed through his teeth as Dean wiped a wet cloth over the singed flesh.

"Easy," Dean replied automatically. "It'll be better when we're done." He hoped the angel's mojo would repair all this sooner rather than later, because Cas's hand was pretty messed up. They'd have to bandage it like an oven mitt.

Though he was focused on his work, Dean could feel Cas's gaze boring into him. He did his best to ignore it, because Cas was just awkward that way.

"Why did you walk into that trap?" Cas finally asked.

Dean glanced up briefly to give him a 'duh' look. "Because you were in there."

"But it was a trap. You and Sam could have been captured and taken to Lucifer."

"Well, we weren't."

"We were prepared, Cas," Sam put in. "Bobby told us it was a trap, so we knew what to expect."

Cas let out a huff of exasperation. "That was not why I warned Bobby in the first place."

Dean stopped cleaning the burn and threw Cas a dark glower. "You really think we'd just leave you there? To be tortured and killed by demons?"

The blank look he got from Cas in return doused Dean's heart in ice. He skewered the angel with a domineering glare.

"That would never happen, Cas. Even if it was Lucifer himself in that building, we would have come to get you."

Cas's eyes widened in alarm, and he tried to sit up. " _No_ —"

" _Yes_ ," Dean interrupted.

Sam put a hand on Cas's shoulder, careful to avoid the burns, and gently pushed him back down.

"Saving people is what we do," Dean went on.

Cas averted his gaze. "I'm the one who's supposed to be protecting you," he muttered under his breath.

"We protect each other," Sam said, and there was a dark look in his eyes.

Cas looked away, jaw ticking in apparent irritation. Dean was pissed they even had to have this conversation.

"Get used to it," he said brusquely, and then turned his attention back to patching up his friend.

_You're walkin' down the street you won't meet no one eye to eye_  
_The cops reported you as just another homicide_  
_But I can tell that you were just frustrated  
_ _From living with Murder Incorporated_

Sam stood outside the abandoned building they'd rescued Cas from. After patching the angel up, Sam had taken the Impala to replenish their supplies while Dean watched over the stubbornly obtuse and loyal-to-a-fault angel. Cas hadn't wanted the Winchesters to come for him, hadn't believed they would. The idiot. Even the demons had realized before the angel that Cas could be used as a bargaining chip against the Winchesters. Because he was one of them now.

Which meant this wasn't over.

Sam pulled his hands out of his pockets and strode into the building. The dead demons were just where they'd left them in their hurry to get Cas out earlier. Realistically, they could just forgo cleanup on this one. The cops would write the murders off as occultish. Sam wanted to take certain precautions, though.

He dragged the four demons into a pile, in the middle of the scorched ring they'd set up to keep Cas trapped in. Then he salted and burned the bodies, just to make sure the souls from the demons' meatsuits wouldn't come back as ghosts. Sam stood in front of the bonfire and watched them all burn, the waves of heat buffeting his hair away from his face. He didn't move for several long minutes.

A shadow detached from behind a support beam and lunged at him. But Sam had been prepared. He sidestepped, twisting around to grab the assailant by the shirt and using his own momentum to slam him down on the ground. Sam whipped out the demon-killing knife and pressed it to the demon's throat.

"Thought one of you might come crawling out of the woodwork," he remarked casually.

The demon's eyes flicked black for a split second, then back to normal. "Guess the canary's cage got sprung. Lucifer will be disappointed."

"I bet he will." Sam pressed the knife harder against the demon's jugular, then started reciting an exorcism. The demon hissed and tried to thrash, but Sam bore down on him, keeping him pinned. One line away from finishing the incantation, Sam paused.

"Remember that I'm not killing you. So when you get back to Hell, spread the word. Anyone comes near my brother or our friends, it will be war. And you will lose."

Sam recited the last line, and the demon threw its head back with a scream as black smoke spewed from the body to splash down into the floor and disappear.

Sam stood up, sheathing his knife. The demon's meatsuit was breathing, so that was another life saved. Sam would wait until he was a few blocks away before placing an anonymous call to the police. He did, however, pull out his phone to make another call as he walked out.

"Well?" Bobby answered.

"We're all okay," Sam said. Well, they'd all _be_ okay. "See you soon."

_Everywhere you look now, Murder Incorporated  
_ _Murder Incorporated_

Castiel lay in the backseat of the Impala, propped up against one side with his legs tucked up on the seat. The loose-fitting flannel shirt Sam had loaned him billowed around the bandages covering his burns, and he held his injured arm protectively against his chest.

The Winchesters sat up front, both of them silent and shrouded in the night. Every few moments, orange halos from streetlights would illuminate half of their harsh profiles, jaws sharp and hard gazes fixed on the road ahead.

They had come for him. In the midst of what had seemed like endless torture, Castiel had looked up and seen the figures of two avenging warriors. Not angels, though. Not his heavenly brethren. But just as fierce. Castiel had watched Sam and Dean strike down those demons with unadulterated retribution—all to reach him.

He didn't know whether to be irked at their disobedience or awed by their devotion.

Either way, he was grateful. Yes, he was their guardian, but tonight Sam and Dean had proved equally capable. And Castiel felt safe under their wing.


	2. "Behind Blue Eyes" - The Who

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song fits Cas SO perfectly, but it's really sad. Thank you to Miyth and 29Pieces for beta reading!
> 
> Song: "Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who  
> Setting: Seasons 6-7  
> Characters: Castiel, Rachel, Balthazar, Dean, Sam  
> Summary: Castiel's arc through seasons 6 and 7. Sad fic.

"Behind Blue Eyes" - The Who

_No one knows what it's like_  
_To be the bad man_  
_To be the sad man  
_ _Behind blue eyes_

Castiel ducked under his opponent's swing and drove his angel blade through his brother's heart. Brown eyes flew wide in shock, followed by an explosion of light and concussive force that filled Castiel's coattails with a puff of wind. He watched the glimmer fade from the other angel's eyes as he withdrew his blade and let the deceased vessel fall to the ground. Around him, the array of battle was waning, their victory secured.

But it was bought with blood and ash, as the field of fighting was scorched with dozens of wing imprints burned into the ground. Losses had been accrued on both sides.

Castiel gazed down at his fallen "enemy" with remorse. He didn't want this, this civil war, angels killing angels. But he'd been forced into many regrettable actions lately.

Castiel wiped his blade clean on the end of his trench coat, and had barely finished when Dean's voice echoed through his head.

_"Cas, get your ass down here. We could use some help."_

He closed his eyes, Dean's impatient tone viciously rent at Castiel's already frayed mental state. He was standing over the body of his own _brother_ , whom _he_ had just killed, to protect the Winchesters. And all Dean and Sam ever did was pray to him irreverently, call him an idiot when he did find the time to respond, and brush off whenever he tried to explain how he was in the middle of a _war_.

_"I'm serious, man. There's a lot of demons up to some big shit and we need the big guns."_

Big guns, as in Castiel was only a tool for them to utilize at their convenience. Strange, how back during the Apocalypse and when he had been cut off from Heaven, all Castiel had wanted was to still be useful in the fight against Lucifer. Now that he was all powered up again—even more so than before—he was beginning to begrudge the demanding treatment.

He sheathed his blade. "Rachel, I have to go."

She shot him an incredulous look as she stepped over the bodies of their fallen brethren to make her way over to him. "Castiel, you can't just leave! We have prisoners to interrogate."

Castiel's heart was torn further in several directions, because questioning those they'd captured would require methods of persuasion that he didn't want to use against his own siblings. But there was no other way to get the information they needed, as Raphael's followers were all staunch supporters. Attempting to reason with them had proven futile in the past.

And despite the Winchesters' recent treatment of him, Castiel still wanted to go to their aid. He did care for them, after all, even if it seemed as though they didn't really return the sentiment.

"I'm sorry," was all he said, spreading his wings. He left behind Rachel's look of disappointment only to arrive on Earth and be greeted by the exact same look from Dean.

_No one knows what it's like_  
_To be hated_  
_To be fated  
_ _To telling only lies_

Rachel found out. Castiel still didn't know how. He'd tried to be very careful about keeping his actions secret. He didn't want to burden his loyal brothers and sisters with the same taint he was willingly taking upon himself.

Rachel didn't let him explain. Didn't trust him. She'd drawn her weapon and attacked, going instantly for the kill. And Castiel had instinctively defended himself. Muscle memory and years of training had him grabbing Rachel's blade and wrenching it around to thrust between her ribs before his mind even registered what he'd done.

And Castiel had stared in grief and dismay as he lowered her body to the ground and watched her die. Another death at his hand.

After he'd recovered from his own wound and returned the Winchesters from 1861, Castiel retrieved Rachel's body and took her back to Heaven. He told the others they'd been attacked by Raphael's soldiers, and no one questioned it.

Had he become that adept at lying? He began to wonder whether the truth of his mission was slipping away as easily as everything else.

_But my dreams_  
_They aren't as empty  
_ _As my conscience seems to be_

"Since when did you become so good at torture?"

Castiel closed his eyes and bowed his head at the interruption to the otherwise tranquil afternoon in the autistic man's heaven. Finding moments of respite were fewer and farther between these days. "Balthazar. I thought you were on a reconnaissance mission."

"Just got back. Not a whole lot to report, either. Raphael has been setting up fake bases to send us on wild goose chases. The bastard."

Castiel nodded sagely. "We just received intel on a real one."

"I know. Everyone's preening their feathers at how quickly you were able to get Raphael's goon to talk." Balthazar came around to stand in front of him. "What are you doing, Cas?"

He tried to draw his shoulders back staunchly, but couldn't manage it. "What I have to," he replied, though his voice also lacked conviction. The war and his efforts were beginning to take their toll on him, and Castiel honestly didn't know how much longer he could keep this up.

Balthazar shook his head and turned away. "You're destroying yourself," he scowled. "And for what?"

That made Castiel bristle with renewed ardor. "To save Earth. To save Heaven."

"Oh please," his brother scoffed. "You're doing it for the bloody Winchesters."

"I- I'm doing it for _everyone_ ," Castiel sputtered. "Yes, for Sam and Dean, but also for all of humanity who will be washed away in the fires of Raphael's apocalypse. I'm doing this for all our brothers and sisters who have suffered too long under the tyranny of a few. We are not cogs in a wheel," he protested. "The script was torn up and thrown out. For humans, for angels. Balthazar, we all have free will now."

He gave his brother a pleading look to understand. Balthazar gazed back at him intently, and then finally shook his head in defeat. But Castiel could tell that it wasn't because Balthazar believed the way Castiel did, only that he was acceding the point.

But Castiel would make him see in the end, he'd make them all see the glorious gift God had given them in choosing their own destinies from here on out.

_I have hours, only lonely_  
_My love is vengeance  
_ _That's never free_

He was beginning to doubt. And not just because his tangled web of lies and deceit with the Winchesters had crumbled into chaff and they'd turned their backs on him. But when Castiel looked at his hands, stained with the blood of his siblings, when he looked at his reflection and the deadened, unfeeling person staring coldly back at him, Castiel barely recognized himself.

He began to pray. Fervently and frequently. For confirmation. For guidance.

"That's why I'm asking you, Father. One last time. Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path? You have to tell me. You have to give me…a sign. Give me a sign. Because if you don't…I'm gonna ju— I'm gonna do whatever I…" He took a deep, sinking breath. "Whatever I must."

He never received a response.

And so Castiel steeled himself for the path of war he'd chosen, prepared to sell his soul if it meant saving the world. Saving his family.

_No one knows what it's like_  
_To feel these feelings_  
_Like I do  
_ _And I blame you_

He went to Dean, to try to make the Winchester understand. Castiel was doing this for him, was doing this _because_ of him. Because Dean taught Castiel that freedom and free will were the cornerstones of humanity, that without them, the world wasn't worth living in. And Castiel believed him. Believed _in_ him.

But Dean wouldn't return that faith. He spoke of family and threats in the space of a few breaths. And Castiel didn't understand. They were friends; more than that. Didn't that _mean_ something?

_"That you are like a brother to me."_

Brother. Enemy. They were one and the same these days.

_No one bites back as hard_  
_On their anger_  
_None of my pain and woe  
_ _Can show through_

"I didn't ask for your help."

Castiel looked away, the scathing depths of Dean's scorn hurting too much to bear. "Well, regardless, you're welcome," he said.

Dean brushed past him. "Why are you here?"

"I had no idea Crowley would take Lisa and Ben," Castiel said to the empty space in front of him, as though _it_ was easier to convince than Dean was.

"Yeah right."

Castiel turned around, heart twisting once again. "You don't believe me."

"I don't believe a word that's coming out of your mouth," Dean retorted with a bitter smirk. He never had any problems expressing his disdain or anger, whereas Castiel couldn't seem to learn to articulate his own emotions as clearly.

"I thought you said that we were like family. Well, I think that too. Shouldn't trust run both ways?"

"Cas, I just can't…"

"Dean," he said desperately, willing his friend, his _family_ , to understand. "I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call, and I am your friend. Still, despite your lack of faith in me, and now your threats, I just saved you, yet again. Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you? All I ask is this one thing."

"Trust your plan to pop Purgatory?" Dean interrupted harshly.

"I've earned that, Dean."

He scoffed, and Castiel felt the last dregs of hope slipping through his fingers like silt. What had happened to their friendship? Their bond that had been forged through blood, war, and tears when they'd stood against Heaven and Hell together?

But then, what was family if not a battleground? Castiel had known that for millennia, and wasn't sure why he had ever hoped it might be different for him elsewhere…

He closed himself down after that. Gathered the shards of his shattered heart and locked them away where he couldn't cut himself on their fragmented hope anymore. Both his families would hate him by the end of this, but as long as they were safe, that was all that mattered.

_When my fist clenches, crack it open_  
_Before I use it and lose my cool_  
_When I smile, tell me some bad news  
_ _Before I laugh and act like a fool_

"I'm your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you."

Bobby caved first, then Sam and Dean.

"Stop," he said. "What's the point if you don't mean it? You fear me. Not love, not respect, just fear."

He'd lost their respect long ago, and he'd never had their love.

"Cas, come on, this isn't you."

"The Castiel you knew is gone," he replied, glad to be rid of that pathetic, mewling weakling of good intentions and pitiful devotion who lowered himself in deference to these insipid pets. But now the ants couldn't hurt him anymore. No one could.

He went to Heaven first, to punish Raphael's followers. Then he turned his attention toward Earth and the little insects that preached hypocrisy and hatred. He dealt with them all wielding a firm hand and the righteous judgement of God.

The Winchesters summoned and bound Death.

"Amazing," he uttered when he landed in their location. "I didn't want to kill you, but now…"

"You can't kill us," Dean lobbed back.

"You've erased any nostalgia I had for you, Dean." And he was better off for it.

Dean shot him a defiant glare. "Death is our bitch. We ain't gonna die, even if God pulls the trigger."

"Annoying little protozoa, aren't they?" Death mused, then angled a considering look at him. "'God'? You look awfully like a mutated angel to me. Your vessel's melting. You're going to explode."

"No, I'm not. When I've finished my work, I'll repair myself."

"You think you can because you think you're simply under the weight of all those souls, yes?" Death replied. "But that's not the worst problem. There are things much older than souls in Purgatory, and you gulped those in, too."

Yes, he had, and deep down he knew he had made a grievous mistake.

"Stupid little soldier you are," Death upbraided.

…so very stupid.

_And if I swallow anything evil  
_ _Put your finger down my throat_

"We need the right blood," Castiel said, biting back a groan. "There's a small jar- end of the hall, su-supply closet."

"Got it," Sam said, and hurried away. How quick the younger Winchester was to help him, despite everything Castiel had done to him. He was humbled and ashamed.

"Dean?"

"What, you need something else?" the elder Winchester said more gruffly.

Castiel cringed inwardly. "No. I feel regret, about you and what I did to Sam."

"Yeah, well, you should."

He deserved that, and so much more. "If there was time, if I was strong enough, I'd- I'd fix him now." But there wasn't, and he wasn't, and it would be one of his greatest regrets. Among so many. "I just wanted to make amends before I die."

"Okay," Dean said, for once his face a blank mask.

"Is it working?" Castiel asked.

"Does it make you feel better?"

He dropped his gaze. "No." Why should it? "You?"

"Not a bit," Dean replied, shutting Castiel down and leaving him crushed under the weight of guilt and remorse and no way to fix it.

As Bobby began the spell and Castiel stood before the portal, he turned to give one last look over his shoulder, once again finding himself at a loss to express all the things he wanted to say. Not that it would ever be enough.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he settled on, because to him it encompassed everything, and seemed fitting for his last words.

But they weren't his last. He'd been given a second chance to fix things.

"I'm gonna find some way to redeem myself to you," Castiel swore.

"Alright, well, one thing at a time," Dean said, essentially brushing him off. "Come on. Let's get you out of here."

He wouldn't be going with them, though, as the full comprehension and horror of what he'd wrought crashed over him with the surge of vile creatures from within.

He pushed Dean and Bobby away from him. "You need to run now! I- I can't hold them back!"

Dean gaped at him with wide, panicked eyes. "Hold who back?"

"They held on inside me." Castiel doubled over with a grunt. "Dean, they're so strong," he ground out painfully. He was going to lose. His one chance to fix things, to save his friends from his grave and terrible mistake, and Castiel was going to fail.

The Leviathan welled up in a deluge of vicious power, tearing their black hooks into Castiel's grace and mind and wrenching him down. He bucked and screamed, but already he had lost control of his vessel. Twenty-four hours ago he had mocked humanity as ants that had no power to defy him, when in reality Castiel was the ant, and he was helpless to watch as the Leviathan straightened in his body.

"Too late."

"Cas?" Dean called worriedly.

_No, Dean, run_.

The Leviathan canted his head at a sharp angle. "Cas is…he's gone." The hive dug into him further. Castiel screamed as his grace began to rip apart.

"He's dead," the Leviathan said gleefully.

Castiel's mind was fading as his life force bled out in azure rivulets.

"We run the show now," echoed in his head before those claws and teeth gave one final tear, and Castiel the angel burned out like a candle.

_And if I shiver, please give me a blanket  
_ _Keep me warm, let me wear your coat_

"I remember you."

_No, please no_.

Castiel turned around to meet the face that haunted his nightmares, only now he understood that in his dreams, _he_ was the monster. "I remember everything."

Dean could only stare back at him, while Castiel could barely form words around the steely anger dousing his veins in ice. Not at Dean, though, at himself.

"What I did. What I became," he ground out. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because Sam is dying in there."

"Because of me!" It was too much, these memories, these feelings. Why had they brought him here? Why had they wanted him to remember?

"Everything," he murmured. "All these people. I shouldn't be here." He pushed his way past Dean and stormed up the hill back toward the road, needing to get away before he caused _more_ damage.

"Cas!" Dean called after him, hurrying to catch up. "If you remember, then you know you did the best you could at the time."

"Don't defend me," he snapped. "Do you have any idea the death toll in Heaven? On Earth?" Castiel finally stopped and turned around. "We didn't part friends, Dean."

The look of pain and regret on the Winchester's face was confusing, as was his response. "So what?"

"I _deserved_ to die." He did not deserve to come back, blissfully unaware of his most heinous sins. He did not deserve to be living Emmanuel's life while Sam lay in a hospital, dying from the tortures of having his wall taken down. The wall that Castiel had removed. He shook his head. "Now, I can't possibly fix it…so why did I even walk out of that river?"

Dean's eyes wavered with a myriad of emotions that Castiel couldn't read. He never could read them. "Maybe _to_ fix it."

Castiel looked away. It was impossible. He was no good; everything he touched shattered. If he went in there now, he would just make it all worse.

"Wait," Dean said, and then he was opening the trunk of the car and pulling out a wadded up, dirty old trench coat.

Castiel stared at it. Stained with blood and dirt, sweat and grime, it was a visual representation of everything Castiel was on the inside, this wretched, ruined form of existence he'd reduced himself to.

And yet…Dean had kept it? All this time? Why? Castiel had been supposed dead, and Dean had hated him…

But it wasn't hatred in Dean's eyes as he held the coat out to Castiel.

He had no idea how he was going to redeem himself, but he could start by donning the mantle of his mistakes.

They were a part of him, after all.

_No one knows what it's like_  
_To be the bad man_  
_To be the sad man  
_ _Behind blue eyes_

Castiel saw everything now. From the furthest star to the tinniest insect. It was all connected, all in harmony. The songs of joy and songs of pain. Taking on Sam's Cage scars had opened his eyes, helped him see beyond his own guilt and the weight of his mistakes. Castiel saw now how beautiful the world was, and he intended to simply be a bystander in it, to appreciate its glory. No more fighting, no more poor decisions.

"I know you never did anything but try to help," Sam told him. "I realize that, Cas, and I'm grateful. We're all grateful. And we're gonna help you get better, okay? No matter what it takes."

Castiel looked up and quirked a brow in confusion. "What do you mean, 'better'?"

Clarity was the best state one could hope for. Certainly for a misguided angel such as himself.

Sam's expression fell.

Castiel turned back to the doodad he was fiddling with. No, he preferred this newfound perspective where he was neither good nor evil. Just…alive.


	3. "Winter Time" - The Steve Miller Band

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel terrible; I actually wrote this a while ago and for some reason or other never got around to actually posting it. My bad. Thank you to Miyth and 29Pieces for beta reading! ^_^
> 
> Song: "Winter Time" by The Steve Miller Band  
> Setting: Post 11x3 "The Bad Seed"  
> Characters: Castiel, Sam  
> Summary: Cas doesn't know how to deal with his recent trauma. Sam is there for him.

 "Winter Time" - The Steve Miller Band

 

_In the winter time_  
_When all the leaves are brown_  
_And the wind blows so chill  
_ _And the birds have all flown for the summer_

Castiel stood at the edge of the grove outside the bunker, arms slack at his sides, fingers numb. His cheeks, too, kissed by winter's chill as frost crept up the tree bark, filling its cracks and grooves with its invasive presence. Much as it wormed its way through Castiel's cracks and fissures, sealing the wounds on his soul with icy permanence that left them gaping and raw. And so very cold.

He hadn't been able to feel warm since Rowena's spell had been lifted. The red haze of violence no longer coated his vision, but the world seemed muted now that he'd been freed from its corruption—a motley smear of grays and browns, pewter and sleet. He'd come outside seeking the balm of sunlight, but even that was subdued, one of the greatest sources of heat in this galaxy traveling too low across the celestial sphere for its rays to permeate Earth's atmosphere with higher temperatures. It left Castiel feeling even more bereft.

A flock of geese flew overhead, and Castiel tracked them with his eyes as they set their course due south. He longed to spread his wings and join them, to seek out warmer climate…to seek out anything away from the unrelenting pain of grief and memory and winter's bitter embrace.

Wind rustled through the branches, and their brittle leaves snapped free to glide haplessly to the ground like a shower of withered feathers.

_I'm callin', hear me callin', hear me callin'_  
_In the winter time_  
_When all the leaves are brown  
_ _And the wind blows so chill_

It had been winter the last time Castiel, the angel, had prayed. Winter in an isolated park dusted with snow, on a bench with open vulnerability and contrition in his pleas for a sign. He'd never gotten one, and had suffered greatly.

This last occasion was no different. Castiel had prayed to his brothers for help. And he had suffered for it. He could still hear their voices.

_"You're not my brother."_

_"What are you?"_

_"The other angels, they hate you."_

He reached a numb hand up to clutch his shoulder. Though mended, he could still feel the bite of celestial alloy as Jonah slowly and cruelly inserted the angel blade through Castiel's body—both vessel and true form. Castiel had begged for mercy. He always pleaded for mercy, and never received it.

He saw Hannah's kind face looking up at him after she'd stepped in to stop Efram and Jonah. Stepped in to  _save_  Castiel. It had all been a lie, though, a trick to manipulate him. Yet even so, Castiel's mind instantly flashed to that last image of a blade protruding through Hannah's throat, her dying nova, the sprinkling of ash in the air as her wings crumbled into chaff. Her betrayal hurt, but so did her death. Both in equal measure, because he'd thought they were friends.

Castiel hadn't wielded the blade that had slain her, but he knew that had it not been Efram, it  _would_  have been Castiel, swept up in the violent rage of that spell. He would have struck her down without hesitation. Just like he'd almost done to Dean…

Acidic bile rose in the back of his throat, and Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to swallow. He barely remembered the warehouse before waking up on the stone-cold concrete, but he did remember the sensation of his fists pounding against soft flesh over and over again. It hadn't been Dean kneeling on the ground before him, not that he'd been able to recognize at the time. Castiel did now, though, could see snippets of it bursting behind his closed eyelids: the way Dean's cheek split under his granite knuckles, the way the man had swayed on his knees, skull likely ringing from the punishing blows.

Animalistic rage had burned through Castiel's veins then. And then it was gone, snuffed out by the counter spell. But his grace was still flayed, stretched thin and torn in more places than he could count. And the glacial poison currently slithering through his essence brought no relief to the scorched scars.

It all burned, in its own way.

_And the birds have all flown for the summer_  
_I'm callin', hear me callin', hear me callin'_  
_I'm callin', hear me callin', hear me callin'  
_ _In the winter time_

_"Cas! Cas!"_

_"This isn't you."_

"Cas."

He flinched when the voice to his right filled the space around him and not just the inside of his head.

Sam frowned. "Sorry. I tried saying your name twice already." His mouth turned down further, eyes crinkling with concern. "You okay?"

"Fine," Castiel said without thinking, because he'd learned that response by rote.

Unfortunately, the ones he'd learned it from were no strangers to the lie, and he could feel Sam's sympathetic gaze boring into him. Sam didn't say anything for several long moments, and Castiel shivered as that persistent chill burrowed ever deeper. How was Sam not also bothered by it? Surely the flannel shirt he wore was not enough to ward against the bitter cold. Castiel should go back inside, himself.

Except, Dean was in there, face a mottled array of bruises and abrasions he refused to let Castiel heal. Dean saw it as comeuppance; Castiel saw it as a constant reminder of his weakness and failure. His punishment was always to watch those he cared about suffer.

Castiel would run, if he could, like he had after the incident in the crypt under Naomi's control. But this time he had no wings, and everything in his grace and vessel ached too much to make it much farther than the tree line he currently stood at.

"You know," Sam spoke up, tone soft and understanding. "It's okay…to not be fine."

Castiel watched a sparrow flit from tree to tree, its movements surefooted and nimble. It would never lose its balance, never make a misstep that couldn't be corrected with a snap of wingspan. Castiel had once possessed such majestic grace. Now, though, he'd been torn into and hollowed out. Again. Stripped of everything he used to be, everything he was supposed to be. He felt adrift and numb and forsaken. He felt like glass about to shatter.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know finding the Darkness is important."

"So is you getting better," Sam instantly responded. He paused, lips pressing together in a thin line. "I'm the one who's sorry," he continued, subdued. "I left you with Rowena."

"It wasn't your fault, Sam. She shouldn't have been able to hurt me. I'm an ang—" Castiel cut off as his throat constricted.

_"What are you?"_

An angel of the Lord? With broken wings and battered grace? No, he was barely an angel anymore. He'd been chipped away at, bit by bit over the years by various angels until this wrecked, barren existence was what he'd been whittled down to. Unable to stop a witch from casting a spell on him that drove him mad with rage and violence. For him to be so vulnerable to such manipulations…it made him a danger to those around him. A liability.

"Cas?" Sam prompted, a thread of worry laced in that single question.

Castiel sucked in a harsh breath. "You're right, Sam. I'm not fine. I…I don't think I can do this anymore."

_In the winter time_  
_When all the leaves are brown_  
_And the wind blows so chill_  
_And the birds have all flown for the summer  
_ _I'm callin', hear me callin, hear me callin'_

He turned to finally go back inside, to lock himself away from everything that he could hurt and that could potentially hurt him. But Sam took two long strides to catch up and put a gentle yet restraining hand on his shoulder, half turning him back around.

"Cas, hey, you  _can_  do this. You just need some time." Sam ducked his head to try to catch Castiel's evasive gaze. "And you're not alone. Me and Dean are here for you. Whatever you need."

"I need to not see the impressions of  _my_  fists on Dean's face every time we walk into the same room," he rejoined rather sharply, even though that was in no way Sam's doing.

The younger Winchester worked his jaw. "I'll talk to him. But Cas, what happened was  _not_  your fault. You weren't in control. Dean doesn't blame you. I don't blame you."

"This wasn't even the first time!" Castiel hissed. "What if it's not the last? What if I…" He choked out a garbled noise of distress, and moved his arms up to hug himself. That parasitic chill was nestled so deep, like a sleeper agent waiting to be awakened to take control. "Why am I so easily dismantled and reassembled to someone else's whim?" he whispered.

Sam's grip tightened, and he raised his other hand to take Castiel's other arm. "It wasn't  _easily_ done, Cas. You fought Rowena's spell. And you could have done way worse damage to Dean if a part of you hadn't been holding back. As for Naomi, you broke her control over you."

Castiel shook his head. "That was the Tablet."

"No, it wasn't. Not at first. Dean told me what happened.  _You_   _stopped_  before you touched the Tablet. Maybe it cleared your head completely, but that's not what kept you from killing Dean that day. That was all you."

Castiel wanted to share Sam's conviction, he did. But he couldn't trust himself. There were only so many times he could be broken before there wouldn't be enough pieces to put back together. He was afraid there weren't enough left now.

"Look," Sam went on, "I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but what you're going through, it's just a season. It won't last forever." He squeezed Castiel's shoulder, voice full of staunch resolve and unwavering surety as he continued, "You  _will_  heal, because you're strong, and because me and Dean aren't letting you go it alone this time."

Castiel lifted his head to meet Sam's earnest gaze, awed by the depth of the young man's fervency and faith. It was the first thing Castiel had noticed when he'd met the Boy with the Demon Blood face to face, and nothing over the years had managed to crush it. So surely an angel, even one as fallen as him, could muster the strength to clutch at the same hope.

A bird call sounded overhead, but instead of hearing the trumpet of retreat, Castiel heard the boisterous promise—they would return. The trees creaked and groaned as they shifted to protect the seeds tucked away deep inside where frost's bite could not reach them. Winter would not last forever.

So maybe, just maybe, Castiel would find warmth again when spring rose from its temporary grave to beat back the chill.

Maybe all he had to do was wait it out.


	4. "Witchy Woman" - Eagles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, I managed to write a Halloween fic this year after all! Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!
> 
> Song: "Witchy Woman" by the Eagles  
> Setting: Season 5  
> Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel  
> Summary: A Halloween case!fic

 

"Witchy Woman" - Eagles

_Raven hair and ruby lips_  
_sparks fly from her finger tips_  
_Echoed voices in the night  
_ _she's a restless spirit on an endless flight_

"So get this," Sam said, scrolling through his phone's web browser. "There's a ton of local rumors surrounding this old house on the edge of town. It's called the Grey Manor, and is supposedly haunted."

"I thought we were looking into a guy who woke up with his eyes missing," Dean said, glancing over from the driver's side of the Impala. "That says witch, not ghost."

"Well, yeah, but they say the woman who used to live there was a witch." Sam twisted around to look in the backseat. "Cas, could a witch's ghost still be able to cast spells?"

The angel tilted his head in that thoughtful mien of his, brows puckered. "I suppose that is possible."

"Great," Dean muttered. "Like alive witches aren't bad enough."

Sam turned back to facing front, and started searching for records on the manor's previous occupant in the hopes of finding a burial plot, just in case they needed to salt and burn some bones later.

They arrived at the local sheriff station, already dressed in their FBI threads. Except for Cas, who was always wearing the same suit and trench coat that made him look more like a tax accountant than an agent.

It had taken a few days, but the angel was starting to look less rumpled after their stint in the Trickster's pocket dimension. Sam wondered just how badly the unmasked archangel had knocked Cas around, but of course Cas wouldn't say. He'd just lingered awkwardly outside that warehouse until Dean had told him to get in the car, and he'd been sticking with them ever since.

The trio made their way inside, Sam and Dean taking the lead as they headed toward the reception counter, which was decorated with thick cobwebs and a candy dish.

"Afternoon," Sam greeted the deputy and flashed his fake credentials. "Agents O'Neill, Carter, and Jackson, FBI."

The deputy immediately stood a little taller. "FBI? Oh, wow. What can I do for you?"

"We're here about what happened to George Lansten," Dean replied. "What can you tell us?"

Deputy Harris, as his name badge said, grimaced. "That he lost his eyeballs?" He shook his head. "Kinda keep wanting to say he lost his marbles, but that means somethin' else. Gotta wonder where that saying came from, given it makes more sense that eyes look like marbles."

"Okay," Sam interrupted, cringing at the line of conversation. "We also read that there have been some pet killings in the area, and that a few people have gone missing. Any commonalities with Grey Manor? Maybe Mr. Lansten was up there recently?"

The deputy's eyes widened. "Well, I gotta tell you, there's a lot of weird stuff that goes on up there. Folks used to say it was haunted."

"Used to?" Dean picked up.

Deputy Harris shrugged. "New owner just moved in. Now people are reporting that they can hear chanting at night, and that there's candlelight flickering in the windows."

"It's just decorations for Halloween," a new voice spoke up, and Sam looked over as a man in a sheriff's uniform came out of a back office. "Harris, the FBI ain't here to investigate occult mumbo jumbo."

"Actually," Cas began, "there have been plenty of—"

"We don't discount those who do believe in the stuff," Dean cut him off.

The sheriff gave them a funny look, and then shook his head as though in exasperation. He reached behind the counter and produced a flyer advertising that Grey Manor would be transformed into a haunted house for Halloween, and that the entire community was welcome to come see it, no charge.

"Seriously, agents, Miss Grey isn't up to anything heinous. She's just trying to make a good impression in the new neighborhood."

Sam raised his brows. "Miss Grey at Grey Manor?"

"Yeah, I guess she's an heir or something," the sheriff replied. "Anyway, Lansten was transferred to a hospital in a bigger town where they have more equipment for dealing with…well, I'll get you the address. By all means, I'll take any help I can get on solving  _that_ , because…" He trailed off, giving a small shudder.

"But Mr. Lansten was a delivery man," Deputy Harris put in. "And Grey Manor was on his route the day before the, uh, incident."

Sam exchanged a covert look with Dean. The manor did sound like a lead.

"Not all of us are backwater ninnies who believe in superstitions," the sheriff said with a slight edge as he handed Dean the hospital address. "We do real police work here. I even talked to Miss Grey about Lansten's delivery, and she said everything seemed fine."

Dean gave a fake smile and nodded. "Well, thank you for this. We'll take it from here."

_Woo hoo witchy woman,_  
_see how high she flies_  
_Woo hoo witchy woman  
_ _she got the moon in her eye_

Grey Manor was a large Victorian house that sat in the middle of a plot surrounded by tall trees and thick copses, and a wrought-iron fence covered in ivy, leaving the only entrance a long drive through an open gate. Dean was definitely not driving his Baby in there.

After parking at the curb, he, Sam, and Cas made their way up the drive. The yard was completely overgrown with shrubbery that looked half dead. And the spider webs strewn throughout the dried leaves didn't look all that fake.

They reached the front porch, and Dean threw his brother a pointed look to be on guard before he rang the doorbell. The mahogany door opened almost immediately, startling them. Dean gaped at the woman who greeted them—velvety raven curls cascaded down shoulders shrouded in see-through black fabric, and her ruby lips stood out on a porcelain face, dark eyes lightly painted with shimmering emerald eye shadow. She wore a large pendant of a milky white stone clasped in silver.

"Why, hello there," she said. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"FBI, ma'am." Dean fished out his badge for a quick flash. "Mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?"

"FBI? How intriguing." She backed up and opened the door wider. "Please, come in."

Dean nodded stiffly as he entered, eyes roving the foyer and adjoining sitting room, both of which were heavily decorated with dark curtains, cobwebs, goblets, and candlesticks. "You really get into Halloween, huh?"

"I do," Miss Grey replied. "It's such an exciting time of year, full of possibility."

"Uh-huh."

"We're here about an Arthur Conway who's been reported missing," Sam stepped in. "We understand he did some handyman work for you recently?"

They'd learned that shortly after leaving the sheriff's station, which had convinced Dean they were dealing with a witch, though Sam wanted to be absolutely certain first, since he hadn't written off the ghost theory. But seriously, a mysterious woman moves into a supposedly haunted house and people start disappearing and losing their eyeballs? Not a coincidence.

Miss Grey walked into the parlor. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about that."

"What kind of work did he do?" Dean asked.

"Oh, this and that. There's a lot of things that need fixing in an old house like this. Plus I had him build a few contraptions for my haunted house. Little tricks here and there to give the guests tomorrow a delightful scare." She sashayed around the parlor's sofa, a mischievous moue tugging at her lips.

Dean felt like his skin was crawling, and he cast his gaze about for evidence of witchcraft. Which, okay, was kinda hard to pinpoint with all the Halloween paraphernalia. Sam was surreptitiously making his way around one side of the room, flicking glances at the curtains and bookshelves. Cas stood like a statue as usual, eyes narrowed on the walls where faint shadows were dancing, cast by…something.

"How'd you pay him?" Dean asked, attempting to stall.

"You got me, it was cash," she responded with a coy smile. "Perhaps he disappeared so he could evade taxes."

Dean fixed her with an unamused half smirk. "From the town he's lived in his whole life?"

Miss Grey shrugged. "Well, I'm not an investigator, am I?"

"No," Sam spoke up, leaning down to pluck something out from under the fireplace mantle. He held up the hex bag. "You're a witch."

_Finally_. Dean reached behind him to draw his gun.

Miss Grey, however, didn't look surprised, or threatened. Rather, her eyes were gleaming with something like reflected moonlight.

Cas suddenly jerked toward him. "Dean!"

He didn't even hear the witch cast a spell, but suddenly the shadows on the wall surged up and over the ceiling, all the way down the other side to completely black out the windows. Dean whipped his gun out and whirled, but she was gone.

_She held me spellbound in the night_  
_dancing shadows and firelight_  
_Crazy laughter in another_  
_room and she drove herself to madness  
_ _with a silver spoon_

Castiel tensed as a great wave of power rippled over and around the house like a shield, and he instantly felt his grace neutralized. His wings, so much heavier now that he was cut off from Heaven, were suddenly weightless from being completely numbed.

"We need to get out of here," he said urgently, spinning toward the foyer and the front door.

Sam and Dean scrambled after him, yet when he turned the corner, he pulled up short to find the front door was gone. A solid wall now stood in its place. Castiel pivoted back into the parlor, only to jolt to a stop again as the windows that had been darkened were now also missing. And he couldn't fly.

They were trapped.

Shadows and orange light flitted across the walls, though there was no source that could be seen. It made the room feel like it was tilting, and Castiel blinked against the onset of dizziness.

"What the hell is this?" Dean demanded.

"It's gotta just be an illusion," Sam said tensely.

"No," Castiel ground out. "There is strong magic at work here." He could see it running across the ceiling and down the wallpaper like amorphous serpents, slithering out from the corners where he could now see hex bags were placed,  _everywhere_.

A cackle echoed from somewhere else in the house, reverberating through the walls.

"Okay, I say we gank this bitch," Dean growled, and cocked his gun before turning to storm deeper into the mansion.

Sam followed, and Castiel hurried after them, dropping his angel blade into his hand. The witch could be hiding anywhere, and she had apparently shored up a lot of power as a defense mechanism in this house.

They barreled into a large kitchen with grand bay windows, and Castiel was instantly disoriented by the full moons peering in through each pane as though half a dozen of the celestial body were looming right outside. The white light bounced off a series of mirrors, bathing the entire room in a foggy haze.

"What the hell," Dean uttered. He staggered back a step, only to bump into the island counter. When he turned, he suddenly jerked away, and Castiel spotted a pair of eyeballs just sitting on the counter top, staring straight at them.

"Back this way," he said, reaching out to tug both Winchesters with him. Time and space seemed to be warping around them, giving him a headache.

Castiel ushered Sam and Dean ahead of him, pausing in the hall to try to get his bearings. Sam kept going, stepping into a nearby sitting room, and suddenly there was a wall where the opening had been a split second before.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, running forward and pounding the wall. There was no response from the other side. "Dammit. Cas! We need to find him."

Castiel started after Dean, and ran straight into another wall. He blinked at it for a moment dubiously. "Dean? Dean!"

Castiel frantically ran his hands along the solid barrier, unable to find any indication that it wasn't real. And he couldn't hear Dean on the other side.

Castiel drew his arm back and punched a hole straight through the plaster. The house groaned in response, and then shrieked, an ear-splitting sound that drove into Castiel's skull like a drill. He clapped his hands over his ears.

An extra burst of power swarmed the room he was in, piecing the wall back together. And as the wave rippled through the air, Castiel felt it clinging to his grace and trying to siphon off his energy, bleeding it out through the conduit hex bags placed in nearly every nook and shelf. This was likely the witch's intention for when people came to her haunted house tomorrow.

Castiel tried to wrench away, but he had nowhere to go. His wings didn't work, and the walls were hemming him in, just like in Gabriel's pocket dimension. And for a split moment, the maniacal laughter echoing through the walls started to sound like one capricious Trickster.

Castiel fell onto his side, clutching his head.

_Well I know you want a lover,_  
_let me tell you brother, she's been sleeping  
_ _in the Devil's bed._

Sam was plunged into pitch black, and then it felt as though the floor had disappeared and he was rolling through a vortex. When candles suddenly spurted to life, he blinked rapidly to reorient himself, and found he was lying on a king size bed with a plush comforter, wrists tied to the bedposts. His heart gave a panicked jump, and he yanked against the ropes, but they were secured tightly.

"Aren't you a delicious looking morsel," a seductive voice issued from the dark.

Sam nearly wrenched his neck jerking toward it as Miss Grey stepped from the shadows. He gritted his teeth and tried to get his breathing under control.

"Sam Winchester. What a pleasure."

So much for staying calm. "How'd you know that?"

She gave him a simpering smile. "Oh, sweetie, it is my great pleasure to serve my lord Lucifer."

Ice filled his veins. Was Lucifer here? Was he on his way?

The witch canted her head at him with a predatory gleam. "Such lovely eyes. Too bad Lucifer wants his vessel untouched." She let out a small laugh. "Well, there's always Blue-Eyes."

Sam's pulse stuttered, but he narrowed his gaze. Yeah, just let her try. Cas would smite her to smithereens.

Miss Grey placed a manicured nail against her lips. "Although, green is my favorite color."

With that, she turned and vanished between a flicker of candlelight and shadow. Sam's lungs seized, and he strained harder against the ropes, the coarse fibers grating against his skin. He let out a ragged cry of frustration when they didn't budge.

" _Dean!_ "

_And there's some rumors going round_  
_someone's underground_  
_She can rock you in the nighttime  
_ _'til your skin turns red._

Dean stumbled through a dark passageway, hands scraping against craggy walls. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was somehow in a dungeon. Certainly not the ornate Victorian house anymore. But then where was he? And where the hell were Sam and Cas?

There was a small gleam up ahead, like ambient moonlight. Dean quickened his pace, and found himself coming out in a basement. A single window grate up near the ceiling let in a stream of moonlight that coated the concrete floor. It was definitely too small to fit through.

_Great_.

Dean started searching for a set of stairs to get back up to the first level. He had to find his brother and best friend before the witch—or this house—could screw with them more.

Dean reached out to feel along the walls. Maybe there was a secret passage, like the one he'd somehow come through to get here. But so far there was just coarse stone.

Until there wasn't.

Dean recoiled sharply as his palm brushed against the soft cartilage of a nose. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and he nearly startled again when he made out a face sticking out from the wall, along with a hand and a knee, as though the poor bastard had been absorbed  _into_  the stone. Dean caught a glimpse of a partial name patch sewn into what looked like coveralls.

Guess he'd found the handyman.

"Hello, lover," a soft voice whispered in his ear.

Dean spun so fast he lost his balance and pitched back against the wall. Miss Grey was standing there, smirking at him. He raised his gun, but was unable to straighten his arm as something gooey seemed to have stuck to his elbow. His heart leaped into his throat as he realized the stone wall was squirming and oozing around him like a spongy material. He tried to pull free, but it was already sucking him in, bubbling around his torso and thighs and turning hard just as quickly. It calcified across his chest, constricting his breathing. Panic threatened to make him hyperventilate. He was friggin'  _entombed_.

The witch sauntered up to him and placed a delicate finger against his cheek. His nostrils flared as he was unable to turn away. "Hm, I really can't decide whether to take your lovely eyes, or keep you down here as a long-term snack."

Dean's breaths were coming hard and fast. Shit, this was bad. He still had his finger around the trigger, but he couldn't get his gun to angle up away from the ground. Maybe he should just shoot and hope the ricochet hit the damn witch.

"Where's my brother?" he gritted out.

"Upstairs," she replied nonchalantly. "Don't worry, I'm not allowed to touch his pretty face." She paused. "Lucifer wants his vessel whole."

Dean's eyes flew wide. Yet before he could think of actually going through with the stupid plan of firing his gun at the concrete floor, a door he hadn't seen across the room banged open. Cas staggered inside, looking ragged but also very pissed.

The witch smoothly stepped away from Dean and began to stalk a half circle around the basement. "Well, I have to admit, I didn't think you'd get out of that little loop."

"You're not the first to try that trick with me," Cas growled, sidestepping to keep her in front of him. His angel blade glinted in the moonlight.

"Sweetie, I have way more juice than you."

Dean's heart jackhammered against his ribs as he watched them circle each other. And then Cas struck like lightning, but the witch moved like shadow, the contours of her clothes taking on a wispy aura as she danced away. Cas spun to keep her in sight.

He attacked again, and there was a grunt followed by a clatter, and Dean saw the blade go skittering across the floor. His heart nearly stopped.

The witch surged forward and grabbed Cas by his throat. "Like I said, you don't have the juice."

Cas glared back at her as static prickled the air and the shadows in the corners started to writhe and crawl toward the angel. Miss Grey's eyes gleamed almost white.

Cas dropped his gaze a fraction, and then lashed out to rip the moonstone pendant from her neck. She gasped in surprise, letting go of Cas's throat. The angel staggered away, cupping the stone in both hands and slamming it down on the ground with such force that it exploded.

The impact shook the foundation. Dean's chest rattled, and for a second he thought the wall was going to come crashing down on him as silt shook loose, but then he was suddenly falling forward. He landed on the floor on his hands and knees. The body of the handyman thumped down next to him.

A high-pitched shriek of rage filled the basement, and Dean whipped his head up as the witch lunged for Cas, his angel blade in her hand. Dean snatched up his gun and emptied the magazine into the bitch. Her body jerked several times as each bullet tore through her, and then she dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Dean nearly sagged. He really hated witches.

He turned to Cas, who was still kneeling on the floor in front of the shattered moonstone. Dean frowned at the dazed look on the angel's face, and then at how he was holding his hands lax and palms up. They were scorched red.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean hurried forward and knelt down beside him.

Cas blinked at him owlishly. "That…had unforeseen results," he said hoarsely.

Dean captured his wrists and forced Cas to hold still as he examined the angel's burned hands. He grimaced. "That looks painful."

"Magical burns are," Cas replied stoically.

"They gonna heal?"

Cas tilted his head at them. "Yes. Eventually."

Well, that was good. Dean hauled him to his feet. "We need to find Sam. That bitch was going to turn him over to Lucifer."

Cas's eyes widened a fraction in obvious alarm, and he gave a sharp nod toward over Dean's shoulder. There was now a clear stairway leading up.

Navigating the mansion was easy now that whatever hoodoo the witch had been spinning was neutralized. Doors were where they were supposed to be, and Cas said he could sense Sam, so Dean followed the angel through several corridors before they finally found his brother in one of the last positions Dean expected.

He crossed his arms with a huff that was partial relief, partial annoyance at having almost been bested by a stupid witch.

"Wow, Sam, really?"

Sam's cheeks reddened. "Just get me out of here, jerk."

"Whatever you say, bitch."

_Woo hoo witchy woman_  
_see how high she flies_  
_Woo hoo witchy woman  
_ _she got the moon in her eye_

Sam stacked another bundle of dry twigs on the wood pile they'd erected in the backyard of the manor. Dean wanted to burn the witch's body so there wouldn't be any chance she could come back as a ghost, even though they hadn't proved that was possible. Still, Sam wasn't going to argue.

He and Dean finished preparing the pyre around Miss Grey's body while Cas stood back and watched, his hands still pretty badly burned. Sam hoped his angelic healing would kick in soon.

Dean lit a match and tossed it on the kindling, which lit up with a whoosh. Flames billowed up, wafting warm air over them to chase away the nighttime chill. They stood in silence as ash and embers floated up into the sky and across the full moon centered above them. Only once the body was completely burned did Dean turn and walk over to Cas, reaching to inspect the angel's hands once again.

"We should clean and bandage these since they're not healing."

"That's not necessary," Cas protested.

"Humor me," Dean retorted, tone brooking no argument.

Cas huffed, but didn't say anything more.

"Think the townspeople will be disappointed they won't have a haunted house to come to?" Sam brought up.

Dean snorted. "A haunted house that was primed to suck the life out of them. Yeah, fun times."

Sam rolled his eyes.

They packed up and headed back to the Impala. As Dean hurried forward to open the backdoor for Cas so the angel wouldn't have to use his hands, Sam happened to glance up at the night sky—and could have sworn he saw a shadow fly across the face of the moon.


	5. "You've Got A Friend In Me" - Randy Newman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a request from NordicRivers for some Cas taking care of a sick!Sam, but I felt that what I wrote was too short for a standalone one shot. And when I was thinking of titles, this song came to mind, and what do you know, the lyrics fit what I wrote absolutely perfectly, so I figured I'd go ahead and make it a song fic!
> 
> So, it's a little shorter than usual, but I hope you like it, NordicRivers!
> 
> Song: "You've Got A Friend In Me" by Randy Newman  
> Setting: Post episode 9x10 "Road Trip"  
> Characters: Castiel, Sam  
> Summary: After expelling Gadreel and Dean leaving, Cas takes care of a sick Sam.

 

"You've Got A Friend In Me" - Randy Newman

 

_When the road looks rough ahead_  
_And you're miles and miles_  
_From your nice warm bed_  
_You just remember what your old pal said  
_ _Boy, you've got a friend in me_

Driving in a vehicle had never been so uncomfortable. Not even when Dean had taken Castiel's keys to the Continental and Crowley had been cuffed in the backseat.

Castiel was behind the wheel now, but only because Dean was gone. They'd rescued Sam and expelled Gadreel, but the consequences of all Dean's actions and secrets coming to light was too much for the older Winchester to face right now. Dean had called himself poison, said he didn't want to drag anyone down with him anymore.

And Sam had told him to go.

Castiel had watched helplessly as Dean drove away, leaving him and Sam on that pier. He hadn't known what to say then, when the sting of betrayal and loss was still so raw for both brothers, what with Sam finding out the truth and Kevin's death. And, for Castiel, there was the remembered hurt of being kicked out of the bunker. Of course he now understood the reason behind Dean doing that, and he didn't  _blame_  Dean for it.

But wounds like that weren't so easily mended, though Castiel wished they were, for Sam's sake.

He cast a sidelong glance at the younger Winchester in the passenger seat. The lines of Sam's face were tight, gaze dull and distant. He was also looking a bit pale. Castiel had healed the pin holes from when they'd had to use that device to hack Gadreel, but there was still quite a bit of damage left over from the Trials that couldn't be fixed instantly. That, at least, Gadreel hadn't been lying about.

Castiel decided to risk a little more speed to get back to the bunker that much sooner.

_You've got troubles, and I've got 'em too_  
_There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you_  
_We stick together and can see it through  
_ _'Cause you've got a friend in me_

Castiel wished he had words of comfort for his friend. But he still didn't know what to say. Yes, Dean had meant well, had been trying to save Sam's life. But the methods he'd resorted to had such devastating consequences…

Castiel was well-familiar with that.

They made it back to the bunker and wordlessly got out of the car. Castiel kept a watchful eye on Sam as the hunter shuffled toward the door. His pace slowed on the stairs as he gripped the railing tightly on his way down. Castiel followed closely, taking in every wince and the sheen of sweat breaking out on Sam's brow.

Once they reached the bottom, Castiel stepped in front of Sam and placed a hand across his forehead. Sam jerked away and shot him a startled look.

"I believe you have a fever," Castiel explained.

Unfortunately, it was too soon for him to begin the next stage of healing.

Sam shrugged away from him. "'S fine," he mumbled. "I'm, uh, just gonna hit the sack."

Castiel nodded. "Good idea."

He watched Sam retreat down the corridor, then turned to rove his gaze around the library. It was quiet without Dean here. Not that Dean was loud, but he just…had a presence.

There were still a few shards from that broken lamp Castiel had helped Dean clean up earlier, so he bent down and picked them up. And then he stood there, not knowing what to do, and hating this sense of helplessness while his friends were hurting.

_Some other folks might be_  
_A little bit smarter than I am  
_ _Bigger and stronger too, maybe_

Castiel recalled that it was customary to make someone soup when they were ill, and so he headed into the kitchen to survey the pantry.

Unfortunately, he didn't actually know how to make soup that didn't come in a package, and couldn't tell whether the proper ingredients were even in stock to make it from scratch.

But there was a can of chili in the cupboard, and it didn't take much to heat that up in the microwave.

Castiel grabbed the can, then puttered around the kitchen in search of a bowl (he'd learned quickly not to microwave tin), and a spoon. Once he got the chili going on a low setting, he checked the refrigerator for milk, and filled a glass of it. He then found a breakfast tray he could carry everything on.

The microwave beeped, and Castiel took the bowl out, dabbing his finger on the top to make sure it wasn't too hot. He didn't want to accidentally scald Sam's taste buds on top of everything else.

Once ready, he picked up the tray and carried it down the hall to Sam's room. The door was closed, and Castiel hesitated. What if Sam had gone to sleep after all? Should he wake him? He needed rest as much as he needed food. What was the proper order or balance for mortal recovery?

But after listening for several long moments, Castiel could discern slight shuffling coming from inside. He balanced the tray in one arm and raised his other hand to knock.

_It's me and you, boy_  
_And as the years go by  
_ _Our friendship will never die_

Silence greeted him for several beats before a gruff voice finally responded, "Yeah."

Castiel turned the knob and slowly opened the door. Sam was sitting up in bed, the covers rucked up over his legs. He had his phone in hand, and Castiel wondered if he had tried calling Dean.

"I, uh, brought you sustenance," he said awkwardly, lifting the tray as evidence.

Sam's brows rose dubiously. "You cooked?"

"Sort of. I know soup is an important staple when sick. This is chili, though it's close to soup. I'm afraid this is the only thing I know how to make," he said apologetically. "That and nachos, but you don't have those in the kitchen."

Sam furrowed his brow before his expression softened a fraction. "Thanks."

Castiel brought the tray forward and set it on Sam's lap. "Were you calling Dean?" he asked as Sam put his phone aside.

Sam's eyes darkened for a flash. "No. I was…trying to find out what all Gadreel had done while possessing me."

"Anything he did would not be your fault," Castiel said adamantly.

Sam ignored the comment and turned his full attention to the food.

Castiel stood by nervously as he waited for him to take a bite. Sam moved his spoon around the bowl twice, then picked it up and brought it to his mouth. He didn't grimace or make a disgusted sound, so Castiel took that as a good sign.

Sam looked up at him again in contemplation. "Nachos, huh?"

"Yes. It was quite the promotion at the Gas-N-Sip."

Sam frowned. "Gas-N-Sip?"

"Where I worked for a time," Castiel reminded him, only to realize that Sam might not have even known about that. After all, Dean hadn't told him why Castiel had left the bunker, so it wasn't incongruous to assume he hadn't told him about Rexford, either.

Sam didn't say anything for a long moment, just stared at his chili. He finally took another bite, then flicked another considering look at Castiel. "You got your grace back."

Castiel rolled his shoulder awkwardly. "Well, not mine, exactly. I got some grace back. It's not of import."

Sam's mouth turned down, but he didn't say anything more as he finished his chili.

_You've got a friend in me_  
_You've got a friend in me  
_ _You've got a friend in me_

When he was done, Castiel took the tray and set it on the desk. He turned back and frowned just as he caught Sam shivering. His fever must be getting worse.

"You should rest," he said, and moved closer to pull the covers up over Sam more, smoothing them out. There was just so little he could actually do, and it made Castiel's heart ache as he reluctantly started backing out of the room.

"Cas," Sam said softly.

Castiel paused in the doorway to look back.

Sam's gaze was watery and vulnerable, yet full of sincerity and a glimmer of compassion for more than just himself. "Stay?"

The word was like a lance, and the emotion it evoked shocked Castiel more than he was expecting. Because the echo of its opposite still burbled in the back of his mind like an open sore. All he ever wanted was to be needed and useful, to be of help and not a hindrance.

To be wanted.

He swallowed hard, and wordlessly turned around to walk over and take a seat at the chair by the desk. Sam gave him a wan smile, and then leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

Castiel stayed by his friend's side throughout the night.


	6. "Nothing Else Matters" - Metallica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU of early season 5, I guess, ignoring 5x04 and how Dean's trip to the future convinced him to reunite with Sam.
> 
> Song: "Nothing Else Matters" by Metallica  
> Setting: Early season 5  
> Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel  
> Summary: When Zachariah captures Sam to use as leverage against Dean, it's Team Free Will's faith in each other that's going to get them through.

 "Nothing Else Matters" - Metallica

_So close no matter how far_  
_Couldn't be much more from the heart_  
_Forever trusting who we are  
_ _And nothing else matters_

First pissed off hunters, then a dream visit from Lucifer himself, now angels. Sam had wanted to step back from hunting after what happened with War, but the forces of Heaven and Hell weren't going to let him. But unlike the first two intruders on Sam's attempts to lay low, Zachariah didn't even want him personally. He was just bait. For Dean.

The seraph casually stalked back and forth across the room in the half-finished construction site. Sam didn't know what state they were in at this point, having been flown to the location. He sat on the cold concrete, knowing better than to try getting up. The two angels standing behind him would just swat him down like a fly.

"Your brother should be here soon," Zachariah commented, flashing him a smug look. "Even when you're fighting, he still comes running."

Sam stewed silently. The worst part was Zachariah hadn't even called Dean and delivered an ultimatum; no, the bastard had just sent him a text from Sam's phone, asking to meet. And Dean had responded asking where. After so easily letting Sam go his separate way, after saying he couldn't do his job with Sam around, Dean apparently dropped everything to come get him.

And Zachariah was going to use that to make Dean say yes to being Michael's vessel.

Sam clenched his fist and shook his head to himself. No, that wouldn't happen. Dean would do a lot of things to save his kid brother, but sacrificing the world wasn't one of them. Sam trusted Dean.

He was the only one Sam could trust, even over himself.

_Never opened myself this way_  
_Life is ours, we live it our way_  
_All these words I don't just say  
_ _And nothing else matters_

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the Impala roared down the highway. He'd just finished a hunt when he'd gotten Sam's text, asking to meet up. Dean had hesitated for only a second before packing up and heading out. The truth was he regretted how they'd left things, how he'd let Sam go without a fight. How he'd made it sound like worrying about Sam was a hassle, when in reality what Dean was more terrified of was not being able to protect his brother, of losing him. Of failing. Because to Dean, that was what mattered more than anything. And with the Apocalypse and the end of the world on the line, he didn't know if he could trust himself to do what needed to be done.

_Trust I seek and I find in you_  
_Every day for us something new_  
_Open mind for a different view  
_ _And nothing else matters_

Dean's phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket while keeping one hand on the wheel, expecting Sam to be calling to complain about how long it was taking Dean to drive across a few states. But it was Cas's caller ID that showed up on the screen.

"Yeah," Dean answered.

"Where are you?"

Dean rolled his eyes and squinted at the next upcoming road sign. "Uh, mile marker 147, highway 9, Utah."

Cas popped into the passenger seat a split second later, but with so much force that the vehicle jolted and Dean hand to crank the wheel to swerve away from the ditch on the side of the road.

"What the hell, man!" Dean barked at the angel, who was pressed against the side door and blinking dazedly.

"Dean," Cas said roughly. "Sam has been captured by Zachariah."

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. "What? When? I just got a text from Sam an hour ago."

Cas shook his head. "It's a trap."

Dean's expression turned to ice, and he tightened his grip on the wheel as he rammed the gas pedal harder.

Cas frowned at him. "Dean, you shouldn't go."

"It's  _Sam_ ," he spat. "Of course I have to go."

"It's you they want," Cas continued. "I assume you have a location? Give it to me and I'll go ahead to get Sam."

Dean gritted his teeth. He supposed that would be a smarter move, but he'd never had to rely on someone else to save his brother before, and it didn't quite sit well with him. Not that he didn't trust Cas.

He glanced over at the angel, eyes narrowing at how Cas was sitting hunched against the door. He then caught a faint blue glow emanating from Cas's side. Dean lashed a hand out and yanked the trench coat away, revealing a puncture wound that was bleeding  _and_  oozing light.

"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed.

Cas grabbed the flap of his coat and covered the wound again. "I was caught by angels," he said blandly. "That's how I heard about Sam."

Dean scowled. "And you were just gonna fly over there and fight off more of them in your condition? That's a good way to get caught again."

"Better me than you."

Dean shook his head angrily. "No," he snapped. Maybe once he would have gone along with that, but he had few friends in this world, and he wasn't going to get in the habit of trading them for his brother. "Come up with a different plan."

_Never cared for what they do_  
_Never cared for what they know  
_ _But I know_

Sam choked on a garbled cry as his insides twisted and convulsed. Zachariah stood over him, hand stretched out, smirking.

"This is a mercy, you know," the angel said. "Being Lucifer's vessel would be so much worse. We'll be doing you a favor killing you and scattering your microscopic pieces across the galaxy."

Sam angled his head up to glare at the seraph. So even Heaven knew about that, had probably known from the beginning. "You're assuming I'd say yes."

Zachariah snorted. "Of course you will. It's your destiny. Just like Dean's destiny is to be the Michael Sword."

"If it's destiny, why go to so much trouble to keep Lucifer from getting his hands on me?" Sam coughed, and tasted copper in the back of his throat. "Sounds more like destiny is a crock and you're just trying to stack the deck."

Zachariah's gaze darkened, and he crooked his fingers. Sam doubled over and groaned, feeling as though the angel's nails were literally digging into his organs.

"Go- to. Hell," he spat between wheezes.

Zachariah's visage looming over him crackled. "I prefer paradise."

Sam couldn't hold back another cry, but he managed to catch his breath enough to speak again. "It doesn't matter that I'm Lucifer's vessel," he gasped. "Or that Dean is Michael's. Because neither of us will  _ever_  say yes."

Zachariah flicked his wrist, and Sam was slammed into the concrete.

_So close no matter how far_  
_Couldn't be much more from the heart_  
_Forever trusting who we are  
_ _And nothing else matters_

Dean walked straight into the construction site for an office development that looked as though it'd been put on hold. Even without Cas's warning, he would have realized something was off by the time he pulled up to the place. But with it, Dean managed to continue inside without drawing his gun. Not that it would have worked against these winged dickbags anyway.

He entered a large space with exposed walls and piles of plaster and other building materials. His gaze immediately went to Sam, who was lying on his side on the floor in the center of the room, with three angels hovering around him. Dean drew to a stop.

Sam gave him a pained look. "Dean, I'm sorry…"

Dean's chest tightened. "Not your fault." He glared at Zachariah. "You don't know when to quit, do you?"

"I have a job to do, and I always get what I want," the smarmy angel replied. "So, Dean. Say yes to being Michael's vessel."

Dean snorted. "Just like that, huh? I would've thought you'd gotten to know me better than that by now."

Zachariah's eyes narrowed, and he flicked his gaze up and down Dean's person. "Yes, well, try that angel banishing trick again, and I'll rip out your brother's lungs, again, before you can even paint the first line."

Dean held himself rigidly still, waiting.

Zachariah sighed. "Look, Dean, here's the deal. You're destined to be Michael's vessel, and Sam here is destined to be Lucifer's."

Dean's heart dropped into his stomach. Wait,  _what_? He shot a horrified look at his brother, who ducked his gaze in shame.

"If you say yes now," Zachariah went on, "you'll be saving the world  _and_  your brother. We can take care of Lucifer before Sam ends up saying yes to him."

Dean could barely follow what the angel was saying, still stuck on Sam being  _Lucifer's_  vessel. He remembered Sam admitting that there was something in him that scared him. And with the demon blood…

Dean clenched his jaw and pushed those thoughts and doubts aside. No. The angels were just trying to manipulate them, like they had from the beginning.

Dean knew his brother.

_I never opened myself this way_  
_Life is ours, we live it our way_  
_All these words I don't just say  
_ _And nothing else matters_

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the look in Dean's eyes as Zachariah revealed everything. Everything their dad had been worried about was coming true; Sam was destined to end up a monster that Dean would have to kill.

"Here's the thing," Dean spoke up, voice hard with deadly calm. "Sam and I don't play by your rules. You're the ones who manipulated things into starting the Apocalypse. And maybe me and Sam bear some responsibility for that, so we will stop it. But on our terms."

Sam opened his eyes to find Dean's resolute gaze looking right at him. But there was no condemnation in it, no seething fury directed at him. Only a staunch promise. Sam swallowed, and nodded in solidarity.

Zachariah snorted. "You're naive and selfish, boy. But I already knew that about you." He half turned to Sam and raised a hand.

Fire erupted in Sam's gut, and he clamped his jaw against screaming.

Dean's eyes turned to steel. "You tried this once before, Zach, and remember how it turned out."

_Never cared for what they say_  
_Never cared for games they play_  
_Never cared for what they do_  
_Never cared for what they know  
_ _And I know_

It took everything within Dean's power not to run to his brother, but he didn't move. There was a flutter of wing beats, and Cas appeared behind Zachariah, holding a sheet of plaster with an angel banishing sigil pre-painted on it. Zach had barely stiffened and started to turn when Cas slammed his palm on the rune, and a blinding white nova exploded. Dean threw his arms up to shield his face as screams reverberated across the walls.

When the light faded and Dean blinked the residual spots from his vision, Zach and his two goons were gone. Dean rushed to Sam, who was curled in the fetal position on the floor.

"Sam? Sammy?" He rolled his brother over.

Sam groaned. "Dean."

"Easy, easy." Dean shot Cas a frantic look as the angel came over and dropped down beside them. Cas's brows knitted together as he studied Sam.

"Okay," Dean breathed, squeezing Sam's arm. "We'll get you to a hospital."

Sam grunted. "I think…he might have given me…some kind of cancer again."

Dean's heart seized. No, no, no.

Cas pulled aside his trench coat to expose his stab wound, which was still leaking bluish-white light. Crap, how was Dean supposed to help either of them?

But then Cas took a deep breath, and moved his hand across his stomach, drawing out a wisp of grace. He guided the gossamer strand to Sam, but then paused.

"Sam, do you trust me?" Cas asked gravely.

Sam's eyes were wide as he gaped at Cas and the glowing energy, but he managed a nod. "Yes."

Cas drew his shoulders back, and then pressed his palm to Sam's sternum. The grace washed over him before sinking in with a glow. Sam abruptly sat up, instantly looking better.

"You okay?" Dean asked frantically.

"Yeah," he replied. "I feel totally fine."

Dean turned to Cas. "I thought you couldn't heal anymore?"

"I can't," Cas said breathlessly. "I used a- sliver of my grace. Since it was- exposed- already."

Dean's brows rose sharply. "You cut off a piece of yourself?"

Cas nodded shakily. "That's why I needed- permission. Though- it's not- possession." He started to list sideways. "More like…acceptance."

And then his eyes rolled back and Dean lunged to catch him, as did Sam.

"Shit," Dean muttered.

_So close no matter how far_  
_Couldn't be much more from the heart_  
_Forever trusting who we are  
_ _No nothing else matters_

Darkness blanketed the countryside with only the Impala's headlights to pierce the veil. Sam glanced over his shoulder into the backseat again where Cas was passed out. They'd bandaged his wound, which still hadn't healed, and then hit the road to get as far away from that town as possible before Zachariah came back looking to pick up their trail.

"You still feeling okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam said softly. Whatever Cas had done had healed him, he was sure of that. But it had cost him. Sam twisted around again worriedly.

His thoughts were a maelstrom of things he couldn't wrap his head around. If Zachariah knew that Sam was Lucifer's vessel, then did Cas know that, too? Yet he still sacrificed himself to save Sam, used a piece of his own pure grace to help the Abomination.

"I'm not going to say yes to the Devil," Sam said quietly. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I swear to you, Dean, I won't do that."

His brother was silent for a moment. "I do trust you. And I won't say yes to Michael. It doesn't matter what crap those dickbags say about destiny. The good guys are the bad guys and the bad guys are no worse. The only ones we can trust in all this are each other." Dean craned his head to look in the backseat. "Team Free Will."

Sam would have rolled his eyes if the atmosphere hadn't been so somber. Yet despite the attempt at a joke, Dean's statement was aptly appropriate. They were choosing free will. All three of them. And together they would find a way to stop the Apocalypse and save the world. And each other.

Nothing else mattered.


	7. "Beautiful Loser" - Bob Seger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Beautiful Loser" by Bob Seger  
> Setting: Seasons 4-12  
> Characters: Castiel, Dean  
> Summary: Castiel and Dean's friendship over the years.

 

* * *

"Beautiful Loser" - Bob Seger

_He wants to dream like a young man_  
_With the wisdom of an old man_  
_He wants his home and security  
_ _He wants to live like a sailor at sea_

Castiel sat vigil by Dean Winchester's hospital bed long after the man had succumbed to exhaustion. Sleep did not grant him respite from his torment, both physical and emotional; the crease in his forehead bespoke volumes of pain. Castiel would heal his mortal shell if he weren't still weakened from the fight with Alastair, and then Uriel shortly after. But all he could do was sit here. Castiel had watched and waited for eons, but in these moments on Earth, he found the actions vexing. He wanted to be able to do more. Particularly for this young man who had the weight of the looming Apocalypse unfairly placed upon his shoulders.

_"I can't do it, Cas. It's too big."_

Castiel roved his gaze over the lines in Dean's face. He was a young man in body, but there was ages of weariness and pain in the depths of his eyes from his decades spent in Hell. Castiel believed the one who started it all would be the one to stop it. But his heart also ached that such a burden be given to one, undeserving mortal. Undeserving of the anguish this path had—and still would—wrought.

Castiel reflected on what he knew of Dean Winchester. A hunter from a young age, tasked with raising his younger brother and keeping Sam safe. Family meant everything to Dean. Meant more than a home—or perhaps family was home, not a physical location. Or a physical location that roamed in the cab of a cramped Impala. Dean Winchester didn't need much, but he deserved more.

And Castiel began to consider how he might help this young man in the coming fight, so that Dean would not have to face it alone.

_Beautiful loser_  
_Where you gonna fall?  
_ _When you realize, you just can't have it all_

Everything he had been told was a lie. Everything he'd been fighting for—twisted to someone else's intentions. And the promised Paradise…would not be worth the cost.

So Castiel rebelled. He had sworn to help Dean in any way he could, and now that meant turning his back on Heaven, on everything he'd thought he believed in.

They went to the prophet to find Sam's location, but the archangel Raphael was on their tail. Castiel sent Dean ahead to stop his brother from freeing Lucifer, and stayed behind to hold them off. His fall from grace was brutal and explosive and absolute.

But at least he died for something worthwhile.

_He's your oldest and your best friend_  
_If you need him, he'll be there again_  
_He's always willing to be second-best  
_ _A perfect lodger, a perfect guest_

Dean sat on the motel bed, arms resting on his thighs, gaze unwavering from the prone form in the bed across from him. It'd been a few hours since they'd returned from the past, and Cas had been asleep that whole time. Or, really, passed out. Angels didn't sleep.

They weren't supposed to pass out, either, though. Or cough up blood.

_"I'm much better than I expected."_

Dean ran a hand down his face. Could Cas have died pulling that time traveling stunt? So why'd he do it?

Dean hung his head. Because he'd asked. Just like in the angels' safe house, when Cas had chosen to disobey Zachariah in order to help Dean stop Sam from killing Lilith. Cas had paid for that with his life. And then when God or whoever had brought him back, he'd been cut off from Heaven, his powers weakened. Yet he still did everything that Dean asked, regardless of the cost.

Aside from Sam, Dean had never had anyone do that much for him. And Cas never asked for anything in return.

Dean lifted his eyes to continue watching the steady rise and fall of Cas's chest, waiting for his friend to wake up. And wondering whether he'd be able to save him too, in the end.

_Beautiful loser_  
_Read it on the wall_  
_And realize  
_ _You just can't have it all_

Sam was gone. Jumped in the Cage with Lucifer to save the world. Dean should have jumped with him.

Cas was gone. Gone back to Heaven to be the new sheriff in town or whatever. He didn't even say goodbye.

And Dean…he kept his last promise to Sam, and went to Lisa's. But his heart was heavy, and nothing was going to replace those holes in his life.

_You just can't have it all_  
_You just can't have it all  
_ _Ohh, ohh, can't have it all_

Against all odds and his wildest imagination, Sam was back. Dean got back into hunting, and it felt right, it felt normal.

But something was wrong with his brother.

Dean demanded Cas help him figure it out. Because they were a team, and Dean wanted his family back.

He should have known better.

Sam was soulless, and that was bad enough. Getting his soul back at the risk of his sanity was a tough call, but one Dean had to make.

And then Cas betrayed them.

Dean could never just catch a break.

_You can try, you can try, but you can't have it all  
_ _oh yeah_

Cas was dead, and Sam was dying from the Cage scars and hallucinating Lucifer. Everything was falling apart and Dean could barely keep it together.

And then Cas was suddenly alive, only he had no idea who he was or who Dean was, and Dean knew he couldn't take much more of this. But Sam was in trouble and that gave him something to fight for. So he pushed aside all the emotions he felt over seeing Cas again. Until Cas remembered, and Dean felt a flicker of something—hope? Yeah, he was still pissed, but Cas could fix things. He had to.

And he did. At the cost of himself. Just like in the beginning.

Dean walked away because he asked an angel to help him, and that angel was irreparably broken because of it.

_He'll never make any enemies, enemies, no_  
_He won't complain if he's caught in a freeze  
_ _He'll always ask, he'll always say please_

"I can't fail, Dean. Not on this one. I need your help."

Dean gritted his teeth. This was not a good time, dammit. Sam was about to start the last Trial with Crowley, and here Cas shows up out of the blue after pulling the disappearing act on them,  _again_ …and maybe Dean was still pissed about Cas running off with the Angel Tablet. And with the crap that came before that.

But here Cas was, asking for his help, after Dean had reamed his ass for not trusting him. And the last time Cas had asked for his help…Dean had said no, and everything went to hell. So he relented.

It went to hell again anyway.

_Beautiful loser_  
_Never take it all_  
_'Cause it's easier  
_ _And faster when you fall_

Hot moisture pricked at his eyes as Castiel watched a shower of blazing comets rain from the sky. The angels were falling. Cast down from Heaven by Castiel's own foolish stupidity.

He began to walk out of the wooded area he'd woken up in after Metatron had taken his grace and sent him to Earth. He was…human, now. He was tired, cold, and thirsty. When he cut up his palm, it  _hurt_.

He needed to call Dean, yet Castiel was so ashamed of his latest mistake in a long string of them, that he balked at the idea. He hoped Dean had made it to Sam in time, wanted to know if the younger Winchester was all right. Yet at the same time, Castiel was afraid to find out that wasn't the case. And that would also be his fault.

But Dean needed to know what happened with the angels. So Castiel steeled himself, and made the call from a payphone. Guilt crushed his heart further when he heard of Sam's condition, but Ezekiel was there to help. He was a good soldier, a good angel. He would help the Winchesters now where Castiel could not.

He had fallen so far, been stripped of everything. Again.

It would be a long, arduous road to penance.

_You just don't need it all_  
_You just don't need it all_  
_You just don't need it all  
_ _Just don't need it all_

Dean turned to face Cas, fury and hurt simmering inside him, yet somehow he managed to keep his voice calm. "Cas, you can't- with everything that's going on, you can't just go dark like that. We didn't know what happened to you. We were worried. That's not okay."

Cas dropped his gaze, looking genuinely contrite. He always did. "Well, I didn't mean to add to your distress. I…" He shook his head. "Dean, I just keep failing. Again and again. When you were taken, I searched for months and I couldn't find you. And then Kelly escaped on my watch, and I couldn't find her. And I just wanted- I  _needed_  to come back here with a win for you. For myself."

Dean's chest tightened. He'd figured that was part of it. They'd all taken a lot of beatings over the years. And it seemed the hits would never stop coming. Dean had to learn to roll with them.

"We will find a better way," he said assuredly, when Cas asked if he or Sam could kill an innocent.

Cas flicked a guarded look at him. "You mean, we…?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, dumbass. We. You, me, and Sam, we're just better together. So now that you're back, let's go, Team Free Will. Let's get it done."

Cas's expression softened with sadness. "I'd like that."

Dean paused to catch his friend's eye. "And I know you feel like you need a win—I do, too. But if I've learned anything by now, it's that the wins aren't really victories. What I need at the end of the day is my family," he enunciated the word meaningfully, "together and safe."

Cas gave a small nod, almost as though he was coming to some sort of realization. "That's all I need, too, Dean."


	8. "World War Me" - Theory Of A Deadman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this has to be the most depressing fic I've ever written. There's a reason I've always avoided "The End" verse before now, but it just fit the song so well. For those of you who follow "Raising Amy," just read this fic first and then go get a happy fix from today's very fluffy chapter of Dean hanging out with his niece.
> 
> Song: "World War Me" by Theory Of A Deadman  
> Setting: 5x04 "The End" verse  
> Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam  
> Summary: As the world falls apart, so do the heroes.

 

* * *

"World War Me" - Theory Of A Deadman

_Wooh oh oooh this is world war me  
_ _Wooh oh oooh I will never find peace, I'm the only enemy_

There's a child crying in the corner. If he doesn't quiet soon, those things outside will hear him, and then they'll all be lost.

The man shoots a glare over his shoulder, but there are no parents to receive it. Just other huddled bodies whimpering in the dark. Scuffs and rattles echo from outside, from the roof.

They are coming.

The man glances down at his arm where he was bitten, the skin red and inflamed. And he knows.

They're already here.

_I'm the king of doubt, I fight it out all on the inside  
_ _I'm the poster child of denial, there's nothing I can't hide_

Dean stood before a dozen weary, terrified faces, all looking to him for answers, for hope. But it was the end of the world. There was no hope. Only survival.

The Croatoan virus was spreading, sweeping through cities and leaving them ravaged so demons could descend and take care of the rest. There was no government anymore, no infrastructure. Somewhere out there, the Devil stood on his mountaintop of victory and drank in rivers of blood.

Dean steeled his jaw and started barking orders like he was John Winchester. That was who he had to be, on the outside, if he was going to get these refugees out alive. There was a camp they could go to, a place far enough out it shouldn't attract the attention of demons or those infected with the virus. Dean took charge because no one else could.

While on the inside he felt himself shriveling up day by day.

_I'm punching holes in walls because, I let it build up way too long, sabotage  
_ _Everything I ever had, and now I'm seeing red, there is no one else to blame, but the voices in my head_

Dean punched the wall in his cabin. The wood didn't give under his anger, though he managed to chip a few splinters off into his knuckles. He turned his back against the wall and slid to the floor, a bottle of scotch in his other hand.

He had to shoot one of his men today. The kid had gotten infected while out on the supply run. He'd tried to hide it, but Dean could tell. He'd developed a sixth sense for these things. And he couldn't risk taking the kid back to camp. So he made an excuse about checking an adjoining building, took the kid with him like it was some great honor to watch Dean Winchester's back.

And then Dean shot him in his.

He stared at the blood on his knuckles. So much blood on his hands. He couldn't protect these people. He let the world fall apart. He let Sam go.

Dean threw his head back and screamed for Michael to get his ass down there, that he was ready to say yes, to end it all.

No one answered. The angels gave up and left a while ago.

Dean lost his chance to make it right.

_Wooh oh oooh this is world war me_  
_Wooh oh oooh I will never find peace_  
_I look into the mirror and I hate what I've become_  
_'Cause I'm the only casualty from damage that I've done  
_ _I'm the only enemy in world war me_

Dean loaded his rifle and cast a quick look around to survey the building. There were supplies in there, but there were also sightings of Croatoan infected, too. Dean ordered two guys to go around and cover the back, two guys who had no business carrying those semi-automatic weapons. One of them pissed his pants the first time he had to shoot a Croatoan. They were liabilities.

And Dean knew that sending them off could get them killed, but he needed capable people watching his back right now.

He stood, catching his reflection in the side mirror of the jeep. The visage was terrifying in how unrecognizable he seemed to himself. He saw more of his father every day.

Thus was war.

Dean cocked his gun and signaled to move out.

_I know you tried to show me the light, I feed on the darkness  
_ _I've lost control, I'm down in a hole, I'm broken and helpless_

Castiel sat on the cabin's porch, head tilted back to look at the black sky. The stars were hidden from him. Or they'd shunned him. He had once been a creature of celestial light, but now he was nothing. Just a wretched, pathetic mortal wallowing in the mud.

At one time, Castiel had thought he was doing the right thing. That choosing to fight alongside Dean Winchester and defending free will was God's will. Of course, he'd also thought that about bringing on the Apocalypse.

The truth was there was no God. And perhaps they'd preserved free will, but they'd lost the war, and all that was left to do now was slowly perish.

Castiel grimaced at the pain in his splinted foot. He'd broken it. When the angels left, Castiel's grace had withered up and died. He could no longer heal himself. He could no longer help in the fight with his powers.

He was hapless and hopeless, and could never go home.

_The noose is getting tight, so tight, will I make it through the night  
_ _It's time to surrender to myself and crawl out of this hell, the battles in my head, there is nobody else_

Castiel felt like he was suffocating. The lungs in this human shell were too small, too weak. He used to be a supernova stuffed into a vessel, and now he was a mesh of memories and consciousness trapped in one. He lost a vital part of himself when his grace evaporated, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to get it back.

He popped open a pill bottle and dumped several tablets into his palm. He'd taken them for the pain in his foot while it had slowly healed, and they'd had the odd effect of disconnecting him from that pain for a time. More than that, though, they'd made him feel almost weightless…almost like flying.

He knocked back the handful, chasing that feeling again, trying to find the piece of himself he'd lost.

As the drugs took effect, Castiel slowly sank to the floor. Everything started spinning. Was he flying again? He squinted at the lantern light as it scattered into swirling stars all around the room. Castiel felt as though he'd finally shed his mortal skin and was now soaring among the heavens.

But that wasn't right…it was too quiet. Everything was so quiet without the Host, without the song of his angelic brothers and sisters. Castiel wanted to scream. But in the dead of night, he knew the raging sound was only in his head.

_Wooh oh oooh this is world war me_  
_Wooh oh oooh I will never find peace_  
_I look into the mirror and I hate what I've become_  
_'Cause I'm the only casualty from damage that I've done  
_ _I'm the only enemy in world war me_

The silent screaming turned to spitting curses, and Castiel furrowed his brow. Someone grabbed his arm and hauled him up. He stumbled as he was dragged outside, the chill night air hitting him like a slap in the face. He moaned, and a few moments later was thrown against cold tile. There was a creak of pipes, and then an icy spray of water assaulted him.

Castiel choked on surprise and discomfort, and tried to get away, but a granite figure hemmed him in and shoved him back against the wall. This time the slap on his face was hard and left a sting.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean shouted.

Castiel blinked blearily, water running down his lashes. "I want to go home," he mumbled.

Dean reeled back, and Castiel slid to the floor of the shower, shivering under the water bombardment. The weightlessness he felt earlier was completely gone, replaced with a leaden chill that burrowed deep into his bones.

At some point, Dean turned the water off and hauled Castiel back to his cabin, stripped him of his wet clothes, and roughly dropped him onto his cot. But rather than leaving, Dean sank to his knees next to the cot and hung his head. If he was praying, Castiel could no longer hear it.

His gaze slid past Dean to the pill bottle left on the floor, then up to the window where Castiel's reflection gazed back at him groggily. What a pitiful excuse for an angel.

Former angel.

But Castiel chose this path, chose to rebel, chose to side with the humans.

And now he would fall like one.

_How do you run away when you're the enemy_  
_Knowing there's no way out, nothing's gonna save me now_  
_Wooh oh oooh this is world war me  
_ _Wooh oh oooh I will never be free_

No matter how much Sam tried not to look, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the cowering people at his feet. One by one, a demon slurped into them, and then he slit their throats and collected the blood to drink later.

Sam slumped in the back of his mind, heart torn to pieces by regret and resignation. He'd said yes to make it all stop—the running, the endless fighting with nothing to show for it. But it hadn't stopped. Instead, he still got to watch Lucifer destroy the world. Only now using his hands.

" _Come on, Sam,"_  Lucifer crooned.  _"Haven't I been good to you? Keeping you strong?"_

Sam didn't respond, but he felt the sibilant caress against his cheek, and shuddered. He missed Dean, wondered where he was, if he was even still alive. All he knew was that Dean had remained strong where Sam hadn't, that he hadn't said yes to Michael. Sam was the weak one. And now he'd have eternity to live with it.

_Wooh oh oooh this is world war me_  
_Wooh oh oooh I will never find peace_  
_I look into the mirror and I hate what I've become_  
_'Cause I'm the only casualty from damage that I've done  
_ _I'm the only enemy in world war me_

Dean stood on a hilltop, overlooking the town they'd just set ablaze because of the Croatoan outbreak and it being so close to Camp Chitaqua. It was necessary, and the bodies down there weren't human anymore, but they looked like it, in the right angle. The little girl sprawled on the asphalt.

Dean figured he'll go to Hell when this was all over. Or maybe he'd just end up sticking around here, Hell on Earth.

He cast a sidelong glance at Cas, standing beside him. The ex-angel was barely recognizable. In tattered jeans and faded flannel with a few days' scruff on his face, Cas looked bedraggled, beaten, and broken, a shell of the person he used to be.

He wasn't the only one.

Dean drank himself into a blackout at night. He grabbed pills on supply runs and taught Cas how to not overdose, because he didn't know how else to help the one friend who had stayed by him throughout everything, and look what it had done to him. But Dean was too selfish to let him go.

The world may have been ravaged by zombies, demons, and the Devil wearing his brother's face, but it was Dean who had caused it all. Dean, the one who destroyed the world and everyone he loved.


	9. "Carry On Wayward Son" - Kansas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Carry On Wayward Son" by Kansas  
> Setting: Seasons 4-11  
> Characters: Castiel, Chuck/God  
> Summary: A father/son's relationship is complicated.

 

* * *

"Carry On Wayward Son" - Kansas

_Carry on my wayward son_  
_There'll be peace when you are done_  
_Lay your weary head to rest  
_ _Don't you cry no more_

God created a lot of angels. Sometimes it was tedious, and he would snap his fingers and more or less make carbon copies of them. Good little toy soldiers lined up in a row. But sometimes, when he was bored with shaping his other creations on Earth, God would return to his work room in Heaven and hand fashion a sphere of grace from celestial matter.

He wove stardust and ice crystals into his current opus, idly watching the glittering swirls mingle with the ethereal effervescence. Iridescent rivulets trickled out to form obsidian wings like the night sky speckled with stars. God considered his work; he hadn't spent this much time creating an angel since the first four.

Finally, lastly, he leaned down and infused the Breath of Life into his creation. The grace pulsed and snapped its wings, and with a wave of his hand, God immediately sent him down to join the others.

"Castiel," he mused. He got the feeling there was something different about that one. And sure, God was omnipotent and knew everything, but somehow he suspected that this one was going to surprise him.

_Once I rose above the noise and confusion_  
_Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion  
_ _I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high_

Castiel was a good soldier. Loyal. Devout. God had commanded the angels to love humanity and watch over them, and so Castiel did. And when his father's beloved creation was threatened by the foretold Apocalypse, Castiel fought with everything he had to prevent it. Yet they were losing.

Heaven, once ordered and composed, had begun to clamor with worry and dissent. And for the first time since the dawn of his existence, Castiel began to doubt.

That was the beginning. Anna urged him to think for himself, but it was a mere mortal man who gave him the final push to choose. Right or wrong. Free will or blind slavery. And Castiel made a choice.

But angels weren't meant for that, and he fell so very far.

_Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man_  
_Though my mind could think I still was a mad man_  
_I hear the voices when I'm dreaming,  
_ _I can hear them say_

There had to be a reason God brought him back. There had to be. And God was the only one who could stop the Apocalypse now. So Castiel searched and searched. He visited all the holy places, churches, temples. He tracked down signs, clutching the amulet in his fist in anticipation of it finally revealing God's presence. But nothing came of it.

Everyone called him foolish or stupid—the Winchesters…Gabriel. Other angels mocked him in the breaths between trying to kill him for being a traitor. All of them said God was long gone, had abandoned them, and didn't care. There was certainly no evidence to the contrary, and yet Castiel couldn't bring himself to give up. He had to have faith. He was an angel, after all, a soldier of God. A shield of God.

And so he pressed on.

And sometimes, in the quiet moments when he sank to the ground on an isolated mountaintop, he thought he could hear a whisper of a whisper, too faint and far away to be distinct. But he rose to his feet and continued on.

_Carry on my wayward son,_  
_There'll be peace when you are done_  
_Lay your weary head to rest  
_ _Don't you cry no more_

Castiel would fight to his last. His grace had run out and he was practically human, Sam said yes to Lucifer but couldn't take control, and God really had abandoned them. There wasn't much point in living anymore.

But there wasn't much point in not going down fighting, either. Castiel fell because he chose to fight beside Dean Winchester, and so he would fall doing so again. Castiel was terrified when he threw the holy fire cocktail at Michael, despite his mustered bravado on the outside. No one except for Lucifer and Gabriel had ever stood up to the archangel. Lucifer's rage was equally terrifying, and then it was over in a shower of blood and bone matter. It didn't even hurt, not really.

But then Castiel felt a twinge, then a tug. He could barely form a coherent thought, pieces of himself scattered through the ether, but it felt as though he was slowly being pulled back in and knit back together. A strange sense of deja vu overwhelmed him.

Warmth enveloped him in a strong, secure embrace, and he thought he heard a voice say,

"Well done."

But then he was standing in the cemetery, alive, his grace restored, and the memory slipped away.

_Masquerading as a man with a reason_  
_My charade is the event of the season_  
_And if I claim to be a wise man,  
_ _Well, it surely means that I don't know_

This was the second time God had brought him back from the dead, so it must be for a divine purpose. Heaven was in chaos with Michael and Lucifer in the Cage, and now Raphael wanted to free them and start the Apocalypse all over again. Castiel couldn't let that happen. He'd been rewarded for choosing free will, and now it was his duty to teach the other angels of it as well, to liberate Heaven from the tyranny of a few.

But as the war raged on, Castiel realized he was losing, and somehow he found himself on a treacherous path he never would have imagined being on. He prayed to God for guidance. Was he doing the right thing? There was no other way to win the war, but was it worth the cost?

Castiel had been so sure in the beginning. Now…now, he didn't know what to think. And his father was silent.

Maybe Castiel was being tested. Maybe…maybe he just had to keep going.

So he did, clinging to the belief that he was doing the right thing, even though everything was getting so turned around.

_On a stormy sea of moving emotion_  
_Tossed about, I'm like a ship on the ocean_  
_I set a course for winds of fortune,  
_ _But I hear the voices say_

It took some time, but the Cage scars faded and Castiel stopped seeing Lucifer. His penance must have been complete, and so afterward, he embraced a pacifist life. No more fighting. No more making things worse.

But Dean needed him, and since the Leviathan being loose was Castiel's fault, he went with the Winchesters to take down Dick Roman. And ended up in Purgatory.

Castiel would have stood there and let the hounds rend him to pieces if Dean hadn't also been trapped. No, Castiel needed to stay alive to draw the Leviathan away from Dean. There was no room for the pacifist here. And over the months of running and being hunted, Castiel realized that is penance hadn't been complete at all. It never would be.

He'd told Sam that it took everything to get him here, meaning to a place where he admitted his faults and stopped interfering. But now he saw that it took everything to get him  _here_. Where he would serve penance for the rest of eternity.

Too bad fate had other ideas. And though Castiel didn't mean to, Naomi's control over him forced him to once again hurt those he loved. After the angels fell, Castiel did everything he could to fix things. But he never could, and over and over again, he just made everything worse and worse. Condemnations rang in his head like a death knell, driving the spikes into his heart.

_"Clean up your mess."_

_I'm trying._

_"I need you back in the game."_

_Of course._

_"The other angels, they hate you."_

_I was just trying to help._

Castiel gave himself to Lucifer. The Winchesters needed the archangel to fight the Darkness. Castiel could only hope that this one, final act of service would be enough, that afterward it would all stop, and there would be no more punishment resurrections.

_Carry on my wayward son_  
_There'll be peace when you are done_  
_Lay your weary head to rest  
_ _Don't you cry no more no!_

With a snap of his fingers, Chuck extracted Lucifer's grace from Castiel's body and parked the archangel in his old vessel, freshly refurbished just for him. Lucifer shot him a seething glower. Chuck understood, but now wasn't the time.

"Later," he said, and moved to the other angel, now crumpled on the floor, chest hitching with labored breaths and muscles twitching. Chuck ached to see him like this, and it wasn't even the worst his son had gone through.

Sam was kneeling next to him and gripping Castiel's shoulder, eyes wide and worried as they swept over the myriad wounds and lesions. "Cas?"

The angel didn't respond. Likely he didn't even know they were there.

Chuck crouched down beside them, and reached a hand out to touch Castiel's forehead. His convulsions ceased as he fell limp, head lolling to the side. Another wave of his hand, and the wounds disappeared, along with all the blood. Grabbing Sam's shoulder, Chuck then transported the three of them to one of the bunker's bedrooms, placing Castiel on the bed.

Sam whirled around with a sputter, but quickly recovered and returned to Castiel's side. "Why isn't he waking up?"

"He deserves the rest," Chuck replied.

Sam frowned at him. "But—"

"Let him sleep," Chuck interrupted. He took a breath, lifting his chin in resolve. "I will stop my sister. It's gonna take a group effort, though." He paused. "But Castiel stays here. He doesn't need to fight anymore."

Chuck's expression softened. This time, he would keep Castiel away from the battle, and somewhere safe.

_Carry on,_  
_You will always remember_  
_Carry on,_  
_Nothing equals the splendor_  
_Now your life's no longer empty  
_ _Surely heaven waits for you_

Castiel stirred as healing energy flowed through him, pulling his tattered grace back together and suturing the tears. He felt…warm, and safe. And it was such a confusing feeling that he immediately tensed and sprang into alertness.

He found himself standing in a crystalline landscape, flat for as far as the eye could see in every direction. The sky was a hazy mixture of white and opaline smears. Castiel's heart lurched, and he whirled around, only to freeze as he came face to face with the last person he expected.

Chuck gave him a soft smile. "Hello, Castiel."

He stiffened. The veil was lifted, and he could see exactly who it was standing before him, though it made no sense.

"You- you're…"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah."

"How?"

Chuck—God—shrugged. "I can make myself undetectable if I want. Even from that amulet that's supposed to burn hot in my presence."

Castiel's anger flared. "What are you doing here?" He looked around warily. "Where is here?" And where was Lucifer?

"I exorcised Lucifer from you," Chuck said, startling him. "Put him in his old vessel. And we're in your mind. You've been asleep for a while, after Amara tortured you both."

Castiel winced, remembered pain flickering through him. "What about the Darkness? Is that why you finally came back?"

"Yes. Amara is my responsibility. And it's over. The world is safe now."

Castiel felt only a marginal sense of relief, and he couldn't even bring himself to ask how at this point. He bristled instead. "Your responsibility? What about the rest of us? Where were you all this time? Where were you when the Apocalypse started? Wasn't that your responsibility, too?"

Chuck just gave him a patient look. "You're frustrated. I get it. Believe me, I was hands-on—real hands-on for, wow, ages. I was so sure if I kept stepping in, teaching, punishing, that the beautiful creatures that I created…would grow up." He looked sad. "But it only stayed the same. And I saw that I needed to step away and let my baby find its way. Being over-involved is no longer parenting. It's enabling."

"I prayed to you!" Castiel spat. "I  _asked_  you for help. And if you were so intent on not enabling, why did you keep bringing me back? Why keep punishing me when  _you_  enabled me to fail?"

"The resurrections were never punishment, Castiel. And I always heard you."

Chuck stepped forward, and Castiel was too worked up to react. He flinched as Chuck reached out and touched his forehead, and something snapped inside him like a lock breaking loose. Memories burst through the floodgates.

Chuck's grief when he stood by Castiel's side as Raphael pulverized him. And then his wonder at Dean and Sam's own grief when they discovered Castiel was dead. After they left, Chuck gathered up the bits of bone and blood splattered across the room, along with the ash of an angel's destroyed grace, and put Castiel back together, then sent him to the Winchesters.

Castiel saw a river and Chuck standing invisible on the shore. God walked to the water's edge and bent down to place his hand in the current. Out in the middle of the stream, waves began to bubble and surge as a body floated to the surface, and then was carried to the shore. Castiel gazed down at himself dispassionately. His body was covered in gashes and holes from where the Leviathan had erupted from his decaying vessel.

Chuck ran a hand across Castiel's white face, brushing some of the lank hair back. There was a warm glow from his palm, and Castiel was stunned to feel the echo of love and pride…and mercy, exuding from the divine Creator.

The memories faded, and Castiel lifted eyes swimming with tears. "Why?"

_Carry on my wayward son_  
_There'll be peace when you are done_  
_Lay your weary head to rest_  
_Don't you cry,_  
_Don't you cry no more,  
_ _No more!_

Chuck smiled sadly at his son. "Because everything you've ever done was out of love. Out of all the angels, you were the one I was most proud of. A son after my own heart."

Castiel shook his head fervently. "I ruined things. Every single time."

"You made some mistakes," Chuck conceded. "But no one's perfect."  _Not even me_. "You always tried to do the right thing, Castiel. I saw that."

The angel looked away. "Can I stop now?" he whispered. "Is my penance finally complete?"

Chuck's heart clenched. "Yes, Castiel. The battle is over, and you can finally have peace."

He watched his son's shoulders slump in a combination of relief and resignation, and knew Castiel expected death. It hurt to see his once brilliant, glittering creation so weary and broken. His grace may have been restored to shiny brilliance, but his eyes, his soul, were dim. Chuck had promised him peace, though it would not be so easily found.

He reached out to take his son by the shoulder, giving him a squeeze of support and reassurance, and returned him to the Winchesters.

Chuck, of course, had never left the bunker when he'd shifted to visit Castiel's mind. He was still standing at the foot of the bed when the angel's eyelids fluttered open dazedly. Sam and Dean immediately straightened at his side and leaned closer.

"Cas?"

"Hey, buddy, how you feeling?"

Castiel blinked at them in confusion, then gradually registered Chuck's presence, hurt and betrayal flashing across his face. "What…?"

"You're home now, Castiel," he said. "No more wars, no more penance. Just family and belonging."

The Winchesters exchanged a look at that, but were too caught up in relief at having Castiel back to question it. As they continued to ask Cas if he was all right, Chuck slipped out. Perhaps they would resent him for the hasty exit, but Amara was waiting for him and he had promised to give her his full attention for a while.

And those three were in good hands with each other. Always had been.


	10. "Did You Hear the Rain?" - George Ezra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt from Miyth.
> 
> Song: "Did You Hear the Rain?" by George Ezra  
> Setting: Season 11, AU  
> Characters: Castiel, Lucifer, Dean, Sam  
> Summary: There's a storm coming—the fight to free Castiel from Lucifer.

 

* * *

"Did You Hear the Rain?" - George Ezra

_Oh, did you hear the thunder?_  
_Or the rain?_  
_Means I'm coming home again  
_ _Means I'm coming home my friend_

Castiel wandered the facsimile of the bunker's library constructed in his head. He found it curious that his mind's prison would take this form. A subconscious attempt to shield him from the horror of his reality? Not that Castiel could forget for a single second that his vessel was currently being possessed by Lucifer. He'd said yes, after all.

The table started to rattle, and Castiel felt a vibration rumbling up through the soles of his shoes. A lamp flickered. He tensed as the pressure around him increased. Was the battle against the Darkness finally happening? Castiel wished he could catch a glimpse of the outside, but there were no windows in the bunker, and Lucifer had made sure to put locks on the door after Castiel had wrenched control from him that one time in order to prevent him from killing Sam.

The walls began to shake, sending several books tumbling off their shelves. Even shoved to the far recesses of his consciousness, Castiel could feel powerful magic snapping around him.

Lucifer came barging into the library, a torrent of rage and fury and crackling grace.

"What's happening?" Castiel demanded. "Is it the Darkness?"

Lucifer whirled toward him with a snarl and spat, "Winchesters."

A bright light filled the room, whiting out Castiel's senses.

_Oh, did you steal my name?_  
_Oh, you Jack of all trades_  
_You're the master of none_  
_Oh, the race has begun_  
_I was born a champion  
_ _I was born to jump and run_

When he came to, the bunker library was just as he'd left it, save for a few items knocked over from whatever violent spell had assaulted them. The shaking had stopped, but Castiel could feel magic encasing them, binding them. That couldn't be good.

Lucifer swung his arm at a lamp, flinging it across the room to shatter against the wall. Whatever Sam and Dean had done, the Devil was furious. Castiel shook his head; didn't they see they needed the archangel to defeat Amara?

"You shouldn't have broken cover with them," he muttered. As loathe as he was to have Lucifer masquerading as him with the Winchesters wholly unaware, at least it meant the Devil wouldn't actively try to kill them. They all needed to be focused on the Darkness.

Lucifer spun so quickly that Castiel didn't have time to react as a concussive force slammed into him, lifting him up and sending him crashing into the wall. Pain lanced down his spine as he hit, and then again when he dropped to the floor. His head throbbed with the reverberations.

"I will rend those putrescent little maggots,  _limb from limb_ ," Lucifer seethed.

Castiel struggled to push himself up. "No," he grunted, lifting his head to glare defiantly. "You will not hurt them."

Lucifer scoffed. "You're weakening day by day, Castiel. Think you can pull that little stunt again? You can't. You don't have the juice."

Castiel got to one knee, then pushed himself up to standing. He drew his shoulders back and summoned his grace.

_Oh, did you hear the rain?_  
_Oh, the rain?_  
_You can try and run and hide_  
_Tearing at the chain  
_ _Oh, Lucifer's inside_

Lucifer wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. It came away red. Fuming, he glared down at the stupid angel at his feet, now wrapped in chains and barely conscious, covered in a lot more blood than Lucifer was. Castiel had managed to weaken him, but it'd cost the little seraph dearly. Lucifer had been lenient before. No more.

He crouched down and grabbed a fistful of Castiel's hair, yanking his head back. "It's no use, Castiel," Lucifer crooned in his ear. "You chose this, and there's no escape." He leaned closer and whispered, "I was ready to simply kill the Winchesters. But now I think it will be more fun to torture them for eternity, with  _your_  hands, and make you watch."

Castiel shuddered beneath him, and Lucifer's mouth curled upward. All he had to do was escape the Winchesters' stupid trap…

The room began to shake and rumble, and Lucifer stood abruptly. What…? A mixture of white and red light speared through the walls, thrusting Lucifer back several steps. The chains around Castiel began to dissipate.

Lucifer's eyes blew wide as he realized what was happening, and he screamed as his consciousness was repressed and Castiel's was allowed to surface.

_Did your siblings tell you_  
_I was wasting up your time?_  
_Oh, now you're wasting mine_  
_You put me back in line_  
_And I'm counting every link  
_ _And I guess you think that's fine_

Castiel blinked blearily as waves of red danced across his field of vision. Heat wafted against his face, soothing at first, but then blistering. He jerked his head up, and everything blurred for a second. There was a clink of metal when he tried to move, only to find himself restrained.

"Cas?"

Castiel squinted as his surroundings gradually coalesced into solid shapes. He was sitting upright in a chair, with shackles around his wrists and ankles and chains covering most of the rest of him. A ring of holy fire simmered in a circle around him.

"Cas!"

He jolted at the harsh, desperate shout. "Dean?" he said groggily, looking up at the two figures on the other side of the fire. He recognized the bunker's dungeon. But how…?

Dean's expression looked wrecked as his eyes pleaded with Castiel. "Cas, listen to me. You have to eject Lucifer, now."

Castiel frowned. "I can't. You need him to fight the Darkness."

" _No_ ," Dean pressed urgently. "He already defeated Amara. The Darkness is gone. Now you have to cast him out!"

Castiel's brows furrowed further as he looked between Dean and Sam's haggard faces. The Darkness had already been defeated? Lucifer must have buried him deeper than he'd thought.

"We don't need Lucifer anymore," Sam jumped in. "Eject him so we can send him back to the Cage." He gestured to someone behind them that Castiel hadn't registered before. Rowena? Wasn't she dead? Yet here she was, standing at a table laid out with various spell ingredients. That must have been how they'd managed to wrench control of Castiel's body from Lucifer.

Castiel slowly shook his head as he roved his gaze around his surroundings, noting how securely they'd been captured.

"This is your chance to kill him," he said. "Once and for all."

Dean's face scrunched up in confusion. "What?"

Castiel settled back in the chair, feeling strangely exhausted. "I'm sure Rowena can figure out something," he said tiredly. "Cast a spell on an angel blade to make it more powerful. Lucifer is vulnerable like this, it will be easy to—"

"Kill him while he's wearing you?" Dean interrupted furiously.

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

Dean's nostrils flared as his face turned a deepening shade of puce. "And kill you too? Not an option, Cas! Cast him out!"

"Dean, you have to," Castiel pleaded. "This way he'll never be a threat again…" Castiel's whole body suddenly seized, and he grunted as he felt claws digging into his mind and trying to drag him backward.

Voices shouted around him.

"Cas? Cas!"

"Eject him, now!"

Castiel gasped as control of his body was violently wrested from him, and he found himself crashing down to the floor in the bunker's library again. Chains whipped out of nowhere and lashed around him. Castiel cried out as the links grew curved barbs that hooked into his flesh. Fire coursed into his veins with paralyzing poison.

Lucifer squatted down beside him. "Well, that was fun."

Castiel couldn't move without causing excruciating pain, but he managed to loll his gaze upward. "Did you already defeat the Darkness?" he gritted out.

Lucifer's face cracked into a grin. "What if I did? You didn't really expect me to give your vessel back, did you? You're not that naive."

No, he wasn't. But that meant it was time to fight back, to make sure Lucifer wouldn't end up being the next threat to the world. The Winchesters had already captured him, so that was good. But they needed to do what must be done.

Lucifer straightened. "You know, Sam and Dean seem more sentimental than I gave them credit for. Maybe if I threaten you, they'll let us go. Considering we're both chained up in their dungeon, I could let you surface a few times, let them hear you scream." He pursed his mouth into a thoughtful moue. "It's not quite the same as having a visual, but I can make do."

He turned and strode out of the library. Castiel struggled against his bonds, only to lose his breath as fiery pain erupted through every nerve ending. He lay on the floor panting for a long moment before it calmed. Maybe Sam and Dean would come to their senses soon and realize they had no choice but to kill Lucifer—kill them both.

Yet, deep down, Castiel knew they would try everything else first. And the longer they let Lucifer live, the greater risk the Devil would end up manipulating them.

No, Castiel couldn't let that happen. Which meant he had to figure out a way to destroy Lucifer from the inside.

_Oh, did you hear the rain?_  
_Oh, the rain?_  
_You can try and run and hide_  
_Tearing at the chain  
_ _Oh, Lucifer's inside_

_"Cas!"_

_"Cast him out!"_

_"Fight, you son-of-a-bitch!"_

_"Here's a new proposition for you boys. Let us go, or I'll start torturing Castiel."_

_"Cas!"_

_"You know all the delicious fun I can have, don't you, Sam?"_

_"We will figure out a way to banish your sorry ass."_

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the voices. Whether Lucifer was intentionally letting him hear or not didn't matter. He had to concentrate, had to  _think_ …

The barbed chains burned where they dug into him, Lucifer's corrupted grace coiling around Castiel's like a snake constricting its next meal. Wait, Lucifer's grace… If Castiel could tap into it, he could then try using it against Lucifer.

He cautiously reached out to touch a strand woven into the chains. It seared his own grace at the contact, and Castiel had to bite down hard to keep from making a sound. Breathing sharply through his nose, he focused on absorbing more of that fetid energy into himself. It hurt worse than anything, but he ignored the pain and kept at it, going slowly so as not to draw attention, and to not overwhelm himself too soon. He needed this to work. Needed to channel enough grace so that he could burn them both out.

_Oh, did I send a shiver_  
_Down your spine?_  
_Well I do it all the time_  
_It's a little trick of mine_  
_Did I make you shake your knees?  
_ _Did I make him spill his wine?_

Dean felt sick to his stomach at the way Lucifer made Cas's face twist into a sneer. He kept shouting over the Devil's threats, trying to reach Cas again. But the spell that had suppressed Lucifer had fizzled out, and Sam was with Rowena trying to determine if they could try it again. They just needed more time to convince Cas to fight, because they sure as hell weren't going to  _kill_  him just to kill Lucifer too.

"Cas!"

"Cas!" Lucifer shouted back mockingly.

Dean reeled back.

Lucifer lolled a dry look at him. "Castiel can't hear you anymore, Dean. He doesn't want to. He doesn't even want to be saved. Never did."

Dean's throat constricted as those same words spoken by Sam echoed through his mind. "Yeah, well, he's not exactly thinking straight lately, is he?"

And that hurt just as much as finding out Cas had said yes to the Devil. Because how the hell had Cas gotten to a place where he was that suicidal…and Dean hadn't even noticed?

"I am not sacrificing Cas," he added, hoping his best friend  _could_  hear him.

Lucifer smirked. "Then I suggest you let me go."

Dean pivoted and stormed over to Sam and Rowena. "Anything?" he demanded.

Sam gave him a sympathetic yet worried look. "No. We won't be able to do that spell again."

"Is there a spell to evict Lucifer from this end?"

"I suppose I could try to come up with something," Rowena hedged.

"Try anything, and I'll kill Castiel before you have a chance to finish uttering a spell," Lucifer called out.

They snapped their gazes toward him where he wriggled in the chair with a grin.

"And then I'll have this vessel all to myself."

Dean's breath stole from his lungs.

_Lord, I'm spreading like disease_  
_Lord, I'm all up in your mind_  
_Oh, Lucifer's inside  
_ _Lucifer's inside_

Lucifer slipped into the deep recesses of his shared mind where he'd left Castiel. Let the Winchesters and the witch continue their pow-wow. They wouldn't come up with anything so quickly, and Lucifer still had an ear trained their direction. At the first sign of them trying to pull something, he'd make sure they regretted it.

But in the meantime, he had to ensure he wouldn't get any lip from the opposite end.

Castiel was still on the floor, shaking minutely as the barbed chains shredded his flesh. Lucifer crouched down next to him and put a deceptively gentle hand on the lesser angel's shoulder.

"Oh, dear brother. You know it pains me to do this to you." He tutted. "We had such a good arrangement before."

Castiel pried his bloodshot eyes open to glare at him.

"I know, I know," Lucifer went on. "It was only because you thought the Winchesters would come kill us in the end. Right? I gotta say, I'm just as surprised as you are that they're being so mule-headed about it. I mean, not sacrificing Sam, I totally get. But you? What are they hoping to achieve by getting you back? Broken and used up as you are, what good are you to them?"

Castiel closed his eyes and tried to turn away. Lucifer moved his hand up to cup the angel's neck, and squeezed.

"It's not like you didn't already know this, little brother." Lucifer leaned down to whisper in his ear. "I see your mind. Every dark little secret. How much you yearn to be loved, to be part of a family again. How you thought you might find that kind of belonging with the Winchesters. But you're just a tool to them. That's really what they're trying to get back."

Castiel didn't respond, and Lucifer smiled.

_Oh, did you hear the rain?_  
_Oh, the rain?_  
_You can try and run and hide_  
_Tearing at the chain_  
_Means I'm coming home again  
_ _Means I'm coming home my friend_

Castiel shuddered under Lucifer's touch. The words seeped into him like poison, but it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. Perhaps that was why Lucifer chose them. The proverbial nail in the coffin. Years' worth of emotions long bottled up threatened to overwhelm him now, but Castiel fought to keep them at bay, fought to maintain his precarious concentration on siphoning off Lucifer's grace right under the Devil's nose.

And then a softer voice trickled through the far corners of his mind.

_"Cas, please."_

Dean rarely sounded so broken as he did now, voice cracking even in prayer.

_"Don't do this. I- I can't… I need you. You're our brother, Cas, and I should have told you that a long time ago. Please, fight him. Come home."_

"Aw, isn't that sweet," Lucifer clucked.

Castiel turned his head up to meet the Devil's eyes. "You don't see everything."

He unleashed the ball of grace he'd been collecting with explosive force that threw Lucifer across the room and smashing right through a concrete support pillar. The chains around Castiel began to crumble, and he struggled to get to his feet.

Lucifer shoved a slab of cement off as he, too, staggered upright. His eyes flared red. "Why you little—"

Castiel thrust his palm out, and an invisible force slammed into Lucifer's chest again. He hit the wall with a thunderous crack that branched up to the ceiling, shaking loose bits of silt and plaster.

Castiel moved forward, only to stumble as a wave of dizziness hit him. Lucifer was up in that split second and storming across the room. He grabbed Castiel by the front of his shirt and swung him around. Castiel went flying into a study table, splintering it beneath his weight.

Lucifer was on him again before he could recover, straddling his chest and raining down blow after blow. His cheekbone split, and the tang of copper splashed in his mouth. Castiel let himself fall limp and released the rest of the grace he'd harnessed, sending it coursing around the library in waves of molten fire.

Lucifer reared back, eyes blowing wide. "You'll destroy us both!"

Castiel lolled his gaze upward. "That was always the plan. Weren't you paying attention?"

Lucifer seethed at him, and drew his arm back to deliver another blow, but heat belched above their heads, making him flinch. With a raging roar, Lucifer launched himself into a torrent of swirling grace that burst through the ceiling in escape.

Castiel watched in dismay, hoping the Winchesters truly did have a means of sending the Devil back to the Cage. The fire spurred by Lucifer's grace in the library died with his exit, and Castiel dropped his head back against the floor as darkness crept in around the edges of his vision.

_Oh, Lucifer's inside_  
_Oh, Lucifer's inside  
_ _Oh, Lucifer's inside._

Sam watched in horror as Cas's body seized in the chains.

"What's happening?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know!" Rowena yelled back. "I didn't do anything!"

Dean whirled back to the chair. "Come on, Cas!"

Cas's head wrenched backward, and suddenly a stream of brilliant light shot out with the scream of a jet engine. A gale whipped up in the small dungeon, pushing Sam back a step.

"The spell!" Dean shouted, and Rowena scrambled back toward the table.

Sam threw an arm up to shield his face, barely able to hear Rowena shrieking the words that would send Lucifer back to the Cage. The torrent of grace twisted and writhed in the air, and Sam felt like his ear drums were about to burst. But then there was a whooshing sound, and the light was suddenly slurping toward a grate in the floor, sucked away in an instant that left a dead silence in the room save for Sam's blood roaring in his ears.

"Cas!" Dean's cry broke the stupor, and Sam jolted as his brother quickly thwacked a rag over the holy fire to put it out. Then he was hopping into the circle and grasping Cas's face, angling his lax head up.

Sam hurried over, heart pounding painfully behind his ribs. What if that storm of grace had been two angels, not one? Or what if it had been the  _wrong_  one?

Cas's eyelids fluttered open.

"Cas?" Dean called, voice on the edge of devastation.

Cas blinked at them, then slid his gaze around the room. "Wh- where's Lucifer?" he asked hoarsely.

"Back in the Cage," Sam breathed, though he cast a questioning look over his shoulder for confirmation.

Rowena nodded.

He turned back to Cas. "Are you okay?"

The angel's brow furrowed. "I'm…still alive," he said disbelievingly.

"Yeah, you held on," Dean replied with a relieved smile.

Sam was still edgy, though, wondering if Lucifer was trying to trick them.

Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Good job, man."

He turned away to grab the key for the chains, and that's when Sam saw it, the way Cas's expression crumpled with disappointment. And Sam knew.

He hadn't fought to come back.

He hadn't expected to be saved.

Sam found himself just standing there as Dean got Cas out of the chains and helped him to his feet. Cas staggered against him, obviously weakened, and Dean made a comment about getting him to a bed for some rest, as he'd been through Hell these past several months.

" _Sam_."

Sam blinked, swallowing hard.

Dean shot him a peeved look. "A little help here?"

Sam quickly slipped Cas's other arm over his shoulder to help support his weight as they carried him out of the dungeon. Cas didn't say much of anything, and there was a heaviness to him that spoke of more than just physical exhaustion. Sam couldn't tell if Dean noticed or not.

They got him into a bed and Dean made rambling comments about getting some rest, and did he want any soup. Cas's responses were monosyllabic at best.

Sam's chest tightened. He'd suspected—known—since the day he found out Cas had said yes, that this had been a suicide play. And Lucifer had a way with messing with one's head, making things worse. Sam knew that intimately well. And it filled him with dread.

Because Lucifer may be gone now, but his whispers would still linger and fester, deep down where it was hardest to reach in and cut them out.

Sam was afraid they still had a devil to fight, and it was a battle that was going to take everything they had.


	11. "Crave" - For KING & COUNTRY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For hengrimm
> 
> Song: "Crave" by For KING & COUNTRY  
> Setting: Season 9-10, mixture of canon and AU  
> Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam  
> Summary: When all seems lost, there is still hope and grace.

 

* * *

"Crave" - For KING & COUNTRY

_Hope sleeps without me_  
_Her sweet dreams surround me,_  
_But I'm left out_  
_I'll need a fix now  
_ _To believe, to feel_

Castiel woke up cold, dew seeping in around the collar of his shirt where he lay on the mulch-covered ground. He lolled his head in disorientation, whispers from dreams he couldn't remember slipping through his fingers like sand. The scent of wet earth permeated around him, and he finally managed to open his eyes to a night-shrouded forest. Flashes of a white-washed room speared his mind, and Castiel shot a hand up to his throat. It wasn't spilling out his vessel's blood; there wasn't even a raised scar, but there was a hollowness inside him where his grace used to thrum and sing. Now there was nothing.

The wind shifted, and the pines began to rustle loudly as gusts coursed through their branches. Castiel struggled to his feet. Even without his grace, he could feel the pressure in the air building. He stumbled under the dark canopy and into a clearing in time to see the sky light up with fractures, sunbursts of Heaven's fields blossoming throughout the clouds. They billowed like fire and brimstone on the Day of Judgement.

Only, it was the angels who were being judged and cast down.

Tears pricked Castiel's eyes as he watched his brothers and sisters fall like meteors, wings catching fire in the atmosphere as they plummeted toward Earth. He had caused this. It was all his fault.

The harried gales buffeted his back and numbed his flesh, flesh that was no longer shell and vessel but bone and blood and punishment and prison.

Castiel stood, lost and alone in the middle of the woods, eyes trained on the fiery sky, and wishing he could fix this.

But he didn't know how.

_These rooms are dark now_  
_These halls are hollow,_  
_And so am I_  
_She is hard to find now  
_ _To believe, to see_

Dean told him to get to the bunker. But without wings, Castiel was finding the journey long and arduous. He had no money for transportation, let alone the basic necessities his now human body could no longer do without. He'd stolen the clothes currently on his back. He searched for food in dumpsters. At night he slept in alleys or under bridges, and during the day he walked, but the miles stretched before him with no end in sight.

He wasn't singular in his predicament, and after meeting some other homeless people, he learned about shelters and soup kitchens and how to work for a meal.

And he pressed on with that one goal—to reach the Winchesters.

But as the nights grew chilled and his stomach cramped when he went to bed, Castiel started to lose sight of that goal. Oh, he kept moving forward, but it was rote, automatic.

He looked into the broken, sad eyes of men he passed in the shelter on his way to a cot, and started to feel a kinship with them.

When the lights turned off and Castiel lay down to sleep, huddled under the scratchy blanket, he wondered how he had ever thought he could help save the world.

_Hope is what we crave,_  
_And that will never change_  
_So I stand and wait_  
_I need a drop of grace_  
_To carry me today,_  
_A simple song to say_  
_It's written on my soul:  
_ _Hope's what we crave_

Castiel found himself venturing into the church, he didn't know why. Maybe to find some semblance of comfort? Familiarity? Or maybe just for a place to sit down and rest where no one would accost him for being a vagrant.

He chose a pew halfway down the aisle and roved his gaze around the various angel decorations, all depicted with grace and ethereal quality.

Things he no longer possessed.

His attention was drawn to the only other person in the church—a woman in the front pew. Her words of prayer, uttered out loud, drifted back to him.

"Please, Lord. Mike is such a good man. Please send your angels to heal him. Thank you for hearing me. Amen."

She made the sign of the cross over her chest and stood up to leave. Castiel felt a pang for the obvious grief in her heartfelt plea.

"Mike is your husband?" he spoke up softly as she passed, not even sure why he'd done so. He wasn't an angel anymore, couldn't answer her prayer.

She stopped in the aisle, slightly startled, and nodded. "He's very sick."

Castiel's chest constricted. "Yes. Humans—so fragile. I never- never realized how fragile until recently."

It was a wonder they survived and flourished at all.

"I guess that's why we pray," she said. "When you get dealt such a bad hand sometimes, you need something stronger than yourself."

Castiel gave her a sad look. "That's a wonderful idea, but…" He sighed and looked away at one of the stained glass windows, its painted angel radiant with strength and purity.

"What?" she prompted.

He turned back to her. "What if you were to find out that no one is listening? That God had pretty much left, that Heaven had…gone out of business. What would you do?"

He shouldn't be saying that; why was he saying that?

The woman quirked an odd look at him. "But that's not possible."

"I think it's completely possible," Castiel argued, perhaps a tad bitterly. It was only possible because of him. He had single-handedly destroyed his home, destroyed  _Heaven_. Again. There was no one left for people like this woman to turn to. Certainly not Castiel. Not Metatron.

She straightened staunchly. "You're missing the point. It's not possible because I have my faith."

Castiel shook his head. "But when I tell you the truth—"

"Your truth," she interrupted. "Not mine. Your lack of faith doesn't cancel what I believe. That's not how it works." She paused, studying him now with less defensiveness and more empathy. "You know…I think you might feel better if you tried it my way. Someone is listening."

And with that, she continued on her way, leaving Castiel alone in the church with unuttered prayers and a deep-seated longing. He remembered what it was like to have that kind of faith, how it made everything bearable, even when the world seemed to be burning down around them.

Everything was crumbling again, and Castiel wished he could find such measure of faith once more. To rally, to recover that central piece of himself he'd lost.

But it wasn't that simple.

_I won't turn to dust now_  
_Let these tears rust now_  
_On my face_  
_Give me the spark now  
_ _To believe, to see_

Castiel slit Theo's throat with savage swiftness. As the angel's grace pooled in the gash, severed from Theo's core, Castiel opened his mouth and took the grace into himself. It was barbaric and heinous.

But it was this or die.

The grace plunged down into Castiel's sternum where it lit up with fire, filling every pore and crevice and blazing back out with renewed vigor. The dried blood on Castiel's cheeks fizzled and burned away.

When the nova receded to a single churning sphere inside him, Castiel took his first breath as an angel again. Theo's eyes were dull, vacant with the hollowness of being violently turned mortal, as Castiel was well familiar with. It was with regret and mercy that he laid a hand upon the man's head and granted him a quick death.

Escape was easy, and Castiel immediately set out to find a way to contact Dean, to warn him.

Because war was coming, and Castiel had finally found the will to fight.

_Hope is what we crave,_  
_And that will never change_  
_So I stand and wait_  
_I need a drop of grace_  
_To carry me today,_  
_A simple song to say_  
_It's written on my soul:  
_ _Hope's what we crave_

Castiel stood on the mound on top of the bunker, numb in the breeze that billowed and whipped around his ill-fitted coat. Part of him mourned the loss of his other one, the one that had belonged to Jimmy Novak. Part of him thought it apropos for the degenerate creature he'd become—half angel with no wings and foreign grace churning like a cancer within him.

He was failing.

Metatron was invincible with the Angel Tablet. Dean had the Mark of Cain. And no matter how hard Castiel tried to fix his mistakes and protect his family, he either only ever made things worse, or completely and utterly failed.

The spark Castiel had mustered to rejoin the fight was fading with each passing day and each defeat.

Hannah and the army of angels that had sworn allegiance to him.

Abbadon.

Dean.

His grace burning out.

Castiel was finding it harder and harder to believe that they could possibly fix any of it. Everything just seemed so hopeless.

_To live, to die,_  
_To lose, to care,_  
_To rise above  
_ _To love again_

And then Metatron's defeat came with Dean's death. Castiel was already declining, but he accepted it. Oh, he tried to help Sam find his brother, but when it was clear his help was yet again unwanted, Castiel found a quiet hole where he could wait out the last of his miserable excuse for existence. His victory in Heaven didn't matter so much when his earthbound family was still so lost and broken.

Until Sam found Dean. A demon. A Knight of Hell.

Castiel found the wherewithal for one last mission—save Dean Winchester.

…By any means necessary.

The demon cure was brutal and excruciating, but Castiel steeled himself to see it through. And when Dean's eyes cleared of inky malice, Castiel felt the weight of relief and exhaustion settle on his shoulders like lead pillars. Dean was back.

"You look worried, fellas."

But he still had the Mark.

The grace Crowley had forced into Castiel roiled and burbled, fresh from the angel it had been stolen from, but ready to start eating away at Castiel all over again. Perhaps there would be a better use for it.

Sam untied his brother and embraced him fervently. Castiel wavered behind them, so much he thought he might say, or should, but when Sam and Dean drew back and Castiel stepped forward, he found there was nothing that needed to be said. The Winchesters were always his purpose.

Dean shifted awkwardly as Castiel closed the distance, but the angel didn't go in for a hug. Instead, he clasped Dean's arm firmly, wrapping one hand around the exposed Mark.

Dean stiffened. "Cas?"

Castiel met his gaze. "This is the last thing I have to give you."

He pushed the grace inside him into the Mark, channeling every ounce of divine power to wash away the accursed brand on his friend's soul.

It seemed fitting, coming full circle this way. Castiel's first and last moment with Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, would be to reclaim his soul and raise him from Perdition.

The dungeon exploded with blazing white light and screams.

_Hope is what we crave,_  
_And that will never change_  
_So I stand and wait_  
_I need a drop of grace_  
_To carry me today,_  
_A simple song to say_  
_Hope is what we crave_  
_I need a drop of grace_  
_It's written on my soul:  
_ _Hope's what we crave_

Castiel drifted in disjointed dreams. Sometimes it was distant memories, other times muffled sounds and sensations from the present.

Castiel could feel his life trickling away as through a sieve, the last dregs of stolen grace barely fizzling within him, but he wasn't bothered by it. He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do, evidenced by Dean's heated voice in his ear or in his mind.

_"Dammit, Cas, you can't do this. Not now. Not when we've come this far."_

Castiel couldn't answer even if he wanted to. He was only vaguely aware that his body was lying on something soft and that the air still smelled like the bunker. Every so often, a hand would touch his forehead and linger for a prolonged moment. It was warm and soothing, and in those instances, Castiel realized how cold he felt.

Time seemed to slow in this in-between state. Was this what humans meant when they said they experienced their life flashing before their eyes? Castiel would call it reflection. But rather than focusing on his failures and pain and heartache, he found himself taking solace in the source of his hope—Sam and Dean. They were the ones who had given Castiel something to believe when it seemed the Apocalypse would destroy the world. They had given him a reason to challenge Raphael and stand up to the tyranny of Heaven.

They had endured so much, and always kept fighting. They would be okay now. That was the hope Castiel was comfortable dying with.

_"Cas, open your eyes."_

_"Come on, buddy, just a little."_

An arm slid beneath his shoulders and lifted him up, his head flopping limply into the crook of someone's elbow.

A bottle's rim was pushed against his lips, and then it was tipping back. Something warm and fizzy trickled into his mouth like the last few drops of mountain stream water to a man dying of thirst. It was so small compared to the rushing cascades of an angel's normal grace, but its song filled the void in Castiel with a chorus that rang out with joyous hallelujah.

_It's written on my soul:_  
_Hope's what we crave  
_ _Hope's what I crave_

Castiel blinked dazedly as the light in his eyes cleared, and the first thing he saw was Dean Winchester's face, arm halfway up and shielding his eyes from the previous super nova. Dean was staring at him with naked fear and hope.

"Cas?"

The figure he was leaning against shifted and propped him up further, inching around enough to look down at him. "Cas, hey," Sam said breathlessly. "Are you okay?"

Castiel wasn't sure. He should be dead. But he felt his grace— _his_  grace—simmering deep down in his core. Battered and frayed, but distinctly  _not_  fizzling out. He gaped at the Winchesters in stupefaction.

"Wh- how?"

"We found where Metatron stashed your grace," Dean explained. "Took some doing to make him give it up, but, uh, you still have some friends in Heaven."

Castiel stiffened in alarm and tried to sit up. "What did you do? Please tell me you didn't release Metatron…"

"We didn't," Sam interjected, keeping one hand on his arm as he pushed himself back against the headboard. "He's still locked, up, Cas. Don't worry."

Castiel relaxed a fraction.

"Yeah," Dean put in. "We didn't do anything stupid, say like, use up all your grace to get rid of the Mark. What the hell was that bone-headed move, anyway? You almost died!"

Castiel sighed. "I was dying anyway. And I just wanted to do one good thing before I went."

"We could have found another way," Dean argued. "And found your grace before you decided to go all kamikaze."

"I don't regret giving up my life to save you, Dean." Castiel flicked his gaze between the two brothers. "You're my family. I would do anything for you."

Sam and Dean fell silent for a moment.

"Same here," Sam finally said quietly. "We'd go to the ends of the earth for you, Cas, just like you would for us."

"We did," Dean added, gesturing to Castiel.

Yes, and that had…surprised him.

"Thank you."

Dean gave a decisive nod. "Like you said, you're family."

Castiel felt warmth blossom in his chest that had nothing to do with his subdued grace, but that fueled it like fire.

Once again, he had found his hope.


	12. "A Demon's Fate" - Within Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Tempest_Raining, who mentioned this song and BAMF!Cas. There is BAMF!Cas…and then I turn the tables and include Cas!whump also, because I'm twistedly talented that way, lol.
> 
> Song: "A Demon's Fate" by Within Temptation  
> Setting: Season 5, mixture of canon and AU  
> Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam  
> Summary: Mess with Sam and Dean, and you'll have their guardian angel to answer to. Mess with Castiel…and the Winchesters will do far worse.

 

* * *

"A Demon's Fate" - Within Temptation

_You'll burn this time_  
_Seeing the violence, it's speeding my mind_  
_No one is saving you  
_ _How can you find a heaven in this hell?_

Dean cranked the wheel as the Impala careened around a bend in the highway. Tires screeched, but he managed to keep from losing traction and gunned it the moment they'd straightened out. The SUV in pursuit skidded along their tracks.

"Dammit, I can't shake 'em."

Sam twisted around in the passenger seat to look, eyes wide and harried. The Impala's engine roared like a beast as Dean gave her more power, but the demons behind them were closing in. The behemoth SUV devoured asphalt, riding up right on the Impala's bumper. Dean gritted his teeth. He expected the tap, but the force at such high speeds still almost sent them into a flip. The Impala skidded in a fast one-eighty, tossing Dean and Sam to the side like rag dolls before finally coming to a jolting stop. In the rearview mirror, Dean saw the SUV brake sharply.

He scrambled out of the car, gun in hand and exorcism on his tongue. Sam had the demon-killing knife. But there were too many, and they were on the Winchesters before Dean could even finish the Latin phrases. He got off a few rounds to at least slow some of them down while screams on the other side of the Impala and spritzes of flashing orange light meant Sam was taking out his opponents.

It still wasn't enough. One of them punched Dean hard enough to wind him, and in that moment of disorientation, an arm hooked around his neck from behind, restraining him.

He heard the thwack of wing beats, and for a split second he felt a surge of hope that Cas had come to rescue them. But then he was tossed toward two figures in suits, who grabbed his arms and hauled him up roughly. And at the sight of angel blades in their hands, Dean's heart fell.

_Leave it behind_  
_Hearing your silence_  
_It screams our goodbye_  
_Cannot believe it's an eye for an eye  
_ _Let us go to waste_

Dean struggled against his captors' hold, but their grip was like granite, painful and unyielding. He watched an angel fly in behind Sam and grab his arm. The kid instinctively twisted around, stabbing the demon-killing knife into the thug's chest. But nothing happened. It wasn't meant for angels.

The asshat in the suit disarmed Sam, and then shoved him toward the demons, who had stopped fighting.

"Zachariah sends his thanks," one of the winged dicks said. "And as agreed, you get to keep Sam Winchester."

Dean's eyes blew wide with panic, and he tried to wrench away from the goons holding him. He met his brother's equally horrified gaze a brief moment before Dean was pulled into a rush of wind and flown away.

_Angels have faith_  
_I don't want to be a part of his sin_  
_I don't want to get lost in his world  
_ _I'm not playing this game_

Castiel banked sharply mid-flight as an angel came swooping down out of nowhere and almost struck him out of the sky. He veered toward the ground, landing in a wooded area, and whipped his blade out just as his attacker touched down behind him. Castiel spun, brandishing his blade, and the strike of celestial steel screeched stridently in the silent forest.

The other angel slid his blade free and lunged again. Castiel jumped back, narrowly avoiding the thrust, and slashed his own weapon.

"Give it up, Castiel," Nehemiah said.

Castiel steeled his jaw. He didn't want to fight his brother, but he knew all the angels had orders to kill him on sight, and it was kill or be killed. He tightened his grip on his blade with grim resolution.

Nehemiah started to stalk around him. "Look at you," he tutted. "You're pathetic. A fallen wretch, just like Lucifer."

Castiel ignored the taunt and focused on watching the twitch of his opponent's eyes, the subtle tensing of muscles to telegraph a strike.

Nehemiah made a noise of disgust. "You gave up everything for two lowly humans. And you know what?" His mouth curved upward. "It was for nothing. The vessels have been retrieved, by both sides. Soon they will say yes, and Michael will have his victory."

Castiel's blood ran cold.  _What?_

He surged forward, lashing out with renewed vigor. Nehemiah spun away and sliced at Castiel's exposed back, but the tip only caught fabric. Castiel pivoted and parried the next blow. He then ducked under Nehemiah's raised arm, torquing his wrist as he simultaneously flipped his blade in hand, and plunged it into Nehemiah's abdomen.

A breath of surprise and pain punched from the angel's mouth. Castiel grabbed the back of his shirt collar and held him up, the blade in his sternum inches from piercing his core.

"Where are the Winchesters?" Castiel growled.

Nehemiah gasped and sputtered. "I'll tell you," he spat. "But only because you'll be delivering yourself right to Zachariah."

Castiel leaned in to Nehemiah's ear. " _Where_?"

"I don't know about the abomination, but Dean Winchester is being held at the Rapids City train yard until Zachariah can retrieve him. Which should be any moment now."

Castiel's jaw tightened. Then that was where he'd have to start.

With a single twist, Nehemiah's grace exploded from his chest and mouth in a blazing supernova. Castiel let the body drop and was in the wind before it hit the ground.

_When the shadows remain_  
_In the light of day_  
_On the wings of darkness he'll retaliate_  
_He'll be falling from grace  
_ _Until the end of all his days_

Castiel landed at the edge of the old train yard and proceeded on foot. The air was sticky and muggy, the sky a pewter gray that rumbled distantly with the same promise of violence that roiled in Castiel's heart.

He soon spotted a guard of angels erected around one of the box cars, and though Dean was hidden from him with the angel warding on his ribs, this close Castiel could sense the thrumming signature of his own grace from when he'd claimed Dean's soul in Hell and put him back together on Earth.

Castiel raised his angel blade to his left wrist and dealt a swift slice. He winced at the pain. It would have been better to use a sharp implement that didn't hurt his true form, but he didn't have one on hand nor the time to seek out an alternative. Switching his weapon to his other hand, he smeared his fingers in his own blood and began to paint a banishing sigil on the side of a rail car. Once it was ready, he stepped away and into view of the other angels.

A shout of alarm went up, and the four on guard began to run toward him. Castiel pivoted and dove back toward the sigil, slamming his palm against it just as the other angels caught up. There was a flash of blinding light and echo of screams, and when Castiel turned around, the guards were gone.

He strode toward the box car, yet just as he reached it, two more angels leaped out at him. One tackled him to the ground, and Castiel rolled in the gravel to regain his feet. Silver slashed through the air, scoring a gash across his bicep. Castiel gritted his teeth and twisted away. Somewhere above, the sky fractured with similar scintillations.

He spun and thrust his blade at one of the angels, missing a fatal strike but landing a wound to his shoulder. He ducked as he felt the air displace behind him, just in time to avoid getting skewered from behind.

Castiel swung around and kicked the second attacker's legs out from under him. When the angel hit the ground hard, Castiel threw himself on top of him, stabbing him in the chest. He died in an explosion of grace.

Lightning cracked the sky so sharply with simultaneous thunder that Castiel barely heard the thwack of wings behind him. He shifted, but not fast enough, and fire lanced down his ribs. Grace illuminated the dim yard in echo of the storm raging above. Castiel moved like the wind, a blur of tan amidst tangled shadows and flickering electricity.

And with a lightning strike in tandem with the crack above, he plunged his blade into the last angel's chest, slaying yet another of his own kind.

The body slid off the blade and onto the ground in a crumpled heap, and Castiel turned toward the box car where he found Dean chained within and staring at him with wide eyes, in a mixture of trepidation, relief, and perhaps awe.

"Man, am I glad to see you," the hunter finally spoke.

Castiel flew the short distance to land in the car and quickly freed Dean of his bonds.

"Sam!" Dean suddenly exclaimed. "Demons have him—"

The air around Castiel crackled. "I'll find him."

He dropped Dean at Bobby Singer's house first, and then went in search of a demon to extract Sam Winchester's whereabouts from.

_From the ashes and hate_  
_It's a cruel demon's fate_  
_On the wings of darkness he's returned to stay_  
_There will be no escape  
_ _Cause he's fallen far from grace_

Getting a location was easy, and fighting demons wasn't as difficult as taking on fellow angels. Except for the untimely discovery that Castiel could no longer call upon the power of smiting.

He'd exploded the door of the abandoned warehouse inward and stormed inside, all righteous wrath and fury, and the first demon to run at him, Castiel had planted a hand on its forehead and attempted to burn the corrupted essence straight out of its deceased shell.

Only, that didn't happen.

Smirking at the triumphant realization, the demon had punched Castiel hard enough to send him staggering back a step. But they still wouldn't be enough to deter him.

Lightning struck inside the warehouse, sending ominous shadows arching up along the walls. Castiel dropped his blade into his hand and stabbed the smug demon in the throat. The others charged him, and with a snap of his wings, he sent them flying backward. In the center of the room, Sam watched with round pupils as the demons hit the floor around him.

Castiel launched himself forward and swiftly mete out vengeance upon the demons that had dared to take Sam Winchester. And when the last one fell, the raging hurricane outside also silenced.

"Cas," Sam sputtered. "How did you…?"

He waved a hand to undo the ropes around Sam's wrists and ankles. "Through the grapevine," he said, trying out the colloquialism.

Sam started at something. "Dean—"

"Is fine," Castiel cut him off. "Let's go."

Without another look at the carnage, he gripped the young Winchester's arm and pulled him into the ether, relieved that his charges were once again safe.

Castiel may have fallen, but he was still a force to be reckoned with.

_Ohhohoho_  
_What have you done?_  
_Is this what you wanted?_  
_What have you become?_  
_His soul's now forsaken_  
_You're walking alone  
_ _From heaven into hell_

Castiel brought Sam to Dean and Bobby, and then left to find a secluded place were he could nurse his wounds. They weren't serious, but the cuts that had been dealt by an angel blade were still raw and stung. The one he'd made on his wrist was even still bleeding, and he realized he may have let his vessel lose more blood than it should have. The pain was fitting penance, though, for the murders of his brethren he'd committed, even if it was for the right reasons.

Castiel bowed his head and lamented what he'd become. A traitor. A murderer. No matter the justness of his cause, that did not change the regrettableness of his actions. Nor the consequences.

For Castiel was fighting for a world and a future he would have no place in, even should he and the Winchesters emerge victorious. The only path that lay ahead for Castiel was the descent into Hell.

But he had chosen to defend free will, and Sam and Dean.

So he would stay his course.

_Now that you know_  
_Your way in this madness_  
_Your powers have grown_  
_Your chains have been broken_  
_You've suffered so long  
_ _You will never change_

When Castiel's injuries had mended enough, he lifted his chin and resumed his search for God with renewed fervor. If there was to be any hope in stopping the Apocalypse, it would come from the Creator who had set it all in motion. Castiel cast his doubts aside—why was his father not here already? Surely he knew the Apocalypse had started. Why was he hiding? …Why had he left in the first place?—and held fast to his faith that if he could just find his father and plead his case, that God would step in and save the world and people he'd loved so much from the moment he created them.

Castiel did not care for his own fate, would not dare to hope that his quest would also lead to clemency for himself. He knew the repercussions of his actions, and would bear them accordingly.

_Angels have faith_  
_I don't want to be a part of his sin_  
_I don't want to get lost in his world  
_ _I'm not playing this game_

_"God doesn't care. He said we're on our own."_

Castiel stood in a dingy motel room that smelled of blood and death, the Winchesters having just woken up resurrected after speaking with Joshua in Heaven's garden. He felt…numb. No, crushed, like suddenly his vessel needed oxygen and there was too much pressure on his chest and he was about to implode.

His father didn't want to be found. All this time, of Castiel desperately searching and praying, and God had purposefully been eluding him.

He wasn't going to step in. Wasn't going to stop it.

All of the taunts and mocking insults his brothers and sisters had hurtled at him in between attempts to kill him suddenly came back with vicious vengeance.

And Castiel was done. He was done playing a game where he was nothing but an expendable piece on a chessboard. Castiel tossed the amulet back at Dean. He had no more use for it. And then he left, ignoring Sam's call for him to wait.

He somehow found himself with a bottle of liquor, and idly popped it open to take a swig. The taste burned going down. Punishing. Mocking. Yet he remembered the tingle from when he'd had several shots with the Harvelles, and the way Dean turned to the bottle to ease his tortured soul. And so Castiel didn't stop until every last drop in the entire store was gone.

_When the shadows remain_  
_In the light of day_  
_On the wings of darkness he'll retaliate_  
_He'll be falling from grace  
_ _Until the end of all his days_

Dean was going to say yes to Michael. Everything Castiel had fought so hard for—everything he had betrayed his own  _brothers_  for—was for nothing. Nehemiah had been right.

Of course, Castiel helped Sam stop Dean before he could summon the archangel, but it was only a matter of time. When the Winchesters wanted to rescue Adam from Zachariah, Castiel went along with it, simply because there was nothing else for him to do. He was a solider. He was a pawn.

And he would go out like one.

He knew better this time, and used a box cutter instead of his angel blade to carve the banishing sigil into his own chest. It was the only way he'd be able to take the five angels inside the warehouse by surprise.

They didn't look surprised when he entered. Their gazes were like steel, full of hatred and loathing for the rebel who was no better than Lucifer in their eyes. They quickly had him surrounded, but Castiel wasn't worried. Actions and consequences. He was ready.

"What are you waiting for?" he taunted. "Come on."

They converged all at once, and Castiel ripped his shirt open to expose the sigil, and slammed his palm against the raised, bloody tracks. Fire exploded through him, and he felt himself being pulled in every direction as the angels around him were flung away in the resultant power wave. Maybe Castiel would be ripped to pieces, as well.

And then everything went white.

_From the ashes and hate_  
_It's a cruel demon's fate_  
_On the wings of darkness he's returned to stay_  
_There will be no escape  
_ _Cause he's fallen far from grace_

Castiel drifted in and out of consciousness for a while. Sometimes he felt rays of sun on his face; at others there was a nippy chill that wormed underneath his collar and froze his marrow. Everything hurt and he couldn't move. Was he really still alive?

So, not only was God uncaring, he was also cruel.

Crunching leaves and snickers disturbed his hazy rest, and Castiel's eyes flickered open blearily in time to see a group of men surrounding him. Though his grace was raw and flayed, he could still see the rotted out pits of their true faces.

"Look what we found here," one of them sniggered. "A little birdie with its wings clipped."

Hands grabbed him roughly and hauled him upright. Castiel moaned, unable to even get his feet under him.

The demon that had spoken moved in close, crooked mouth widening in a sneer. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy playing with this one."

Castiel couldn't muster any strength to resist as he was dragged away, into a moldy building that reeked of feces and mildew. Ropes that never before would have been able to contain an angel's prowess now bound his wrists and grated his vessel's skin as his arms were yanked above his head and he was left to dangle. And when the mundane weapons began to cut and burn, Castiel felt pain in ways that before then, only other angels had been able to inflict.

_Ohhohoho_  
_Angels have faith_  
_I don't want to be a part of his sin_  
_I don't want to get lost in his world  
_ _I'm not playing this game_

Dean and Sam searched for Cas after Van Nuys. As well as they could, anyway, when they had nothing to go on. Cas had literally blown those angels away, himself included. Hell, Dean didn't even know if he was still  _alive_  after that. He had Bobby keeping an ear to the ground on any strange accountant types popping up out of the blue, but so far, nothing.

Until Dean got a random text message on his phone saying, " _You'll find him here_ " and an address to go with it. The sender's number was just a bunch of zeros.

"Think it's a trap?" Sam asked, studying the map he'd pulled up of what looked like an old warehouse district.

Dean worked his jaw. Or maybe God hadn't quite turned his back on them after all?

He stood up. "Doesn't matter. We're bringing him home."

They packed up and hit the road, driving two and a half hours to reach their destination. At least the address the mysterious sender gave them had a warehouse number, so that narrowed down the location. Dean and Sam each now had an angel blade to go along with the demon-killing knife.

The area was quiet, and Dean was leery of a trap, especially as they ventured into the darkened warehouse and didn't come upon anything.

Until they just happened to run into a demon who waltzed around the corner. There was a brief moment of surprise and then her eyes flicked black. Dean had her slammed up against the wall and angel blade pressed to her throat before she could even make a move.

"Where's the angel?" he growled.

She laughed. "Is that why you've come?"

"Where is he?" Sam asked darkly.

"Oh, he's around here somewhere. Poor little birdie lost its wings." She licked her lips. "What will you give to have him back? Of course, he's a bit broken now." She cocked her head at Dean. "You know how that goes."

Dean removed the blade from her neck, only to thrust it up between her ribs. Her mouth flew open in shock as orange lightning flickered throughout her skeleton. He yanked the blade out and let the body drop.

"Let's go," he said, sharing a stormy look with his brother. They were going to find their angel.

_When the shadows remain_  
_In the light of day_  
_On the wings of darkness he'll retaliate_  
_He'll be falling from grace  
_ _Until the end of all his days_

Castiel focused on the drip, drip, drip of blood trailing down his face and falling from his bowed chin. He watched the droplets splatter in the crimson puddle on the floor beneath him. Blood loss made him lightheaded, but the pain of his injuries kept him from finding relief in sleep. His grace was all but nonexistent, burned down to nothing more than flickering embers barely clinging to life. He was essentially mortal. And the captive of demons.

Thus, his fall was complete.

He heard a click and whoosh, followed by the steady sound of a blowtorch's flame. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and refused to look.

The scream that echoed through the room then didn't come from his throat, and Castiel blinked dazedly as the blowtorch fell to the ground next to a stack of crates, which immediately went up in flames. The fire crackled and spit as it scattered shadows across the warehouse. Wreathed in darkness, two figures crashed upon the demons with ruthless efficiency, firelight glinting off angel blades.

In the dancing shadows, Castiel thought he saw Dean and Sam, swooping in like a duo of terrible, avenging angels.

_From the ashes and hate_  
_It's a cruel demon's fate_  
_On the wings of darkness he's returned to stay_  
_There will be no escape  
_ _Cause he's fallen far from grace_

Castiel watched one of the demons get thrown into the fire, its screeches grating like claws on steel. When it tried to scramble away, one of the ambushers leaped in and stabbed the demon through the back. Orange lightning and wisps of flame devoured the rest of its corpse.

And then Dean and Sam were standing before Castiel, eyes reflecting fury and violence and tongues of fire. They simultaneously reached for the ropes stretching Castiel's arms taut, and cut him down. He dropped bonelessly, two sets of hands frantically reaching to grab him.

"Whoa, easy, easy."

Castiel wanted to ask what they were doing here, but his voice was long gone and his throat was parched past the point of endurance.

"Hang on, we're gonna get you out of here."

Castiel was in no shape to help as they each slung one of his arms over their shoulders. He couldn't hold back a pained groan as the movement pulled at his wounds.

"Okay, okay," Dean murmured. "Easy does it."

They half carried him outside into the chilly night, and a shiver wracked his spine through the tatters in his clothes. But the Impala was within sight, and in a few moments, he was being eased into the backseat. Dean jogged around to open the trunk while Sam slid in beside him.

"Hang in there, Cas, we got you now."

Dean returned and bundled a blanket around him as Sam held him up, and then he was carefully laid back against the seat. Dean then handed Sam a medical kit before scrambling into the front and starting the engine. The initial push of gas jostled his wounds, and he moaned miserably.

"Shit," Sam cursed as he started peeling away the bloodstained layers to get a glimpse underneath. "This looks bad, Dean. We might need to find a motel."

"Yeah, alright." Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. "Cas?"

He opened his mouth, only for a pitiful croak to come out.

"Here." Sam snatched up a water bottle from the floor and twisted the cap off. He held the bottle to Castiel's lips and tipped it back so he could drink.

He gulped it down like a dying man.

Which, was what he was, now.

"I…" he rasped. "My 'mojo'…" he opted to use Dean's word for his grace. "Is gone."

He watched Sam and Dean exchange a worried look.

"It'll be okay," Sam said.

Castiel shook his head. They didn't understand. "I'm practically human now," he said, voice heavy with gravel and exhaustion and pain.

The Winchesters shared another look, and then Dean was meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

"It'll be okay, Cas," he repeated, serious and full of promise.

Sam lifted the bottle to help him drink some more, and Castiel stayed quiet after that as the younger Winchester took a wet cloth to his face and started applying antiseptic to the wounds he could see in the dark.

Castiel thought about his descent from grace, how far he had fallen and how this fate had been inescapable from the moment he'd chosen to rebel. And yet…he had not expected to end up somewhere other than damnation, had not expected for these two boys, whom he had grown to cherish, to  _catch_  him.

Castiel marveled in a half-dazed state as Sam gently tended his wounds and Dean's fierce presence mowed down any lingering doubts or fears. Because for once, Castiel felt…safe. Here, with Sam and Dean. In the backseat of the Impala as it roared down the highway on the wings of darkness.


	13. "I'll Find You" - Lecrae (feat. Tori Kelly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "I'll Find You" by Lecrae (feat. Tori Kelly)  
> Setting: Seasons 10-11, mixture of canon and AU  
> Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam  
> Summary: Time and time again, the members of Team Free Will find themselves at the end of their rope, lost to darknesses of their own making. But they're also the ones who can bring each other back from it.

 

* * *

"I'll Find You" - Lecrae (feat. Tori Kelly)

_Just fight a little longer, my friend_  
_It's all worth it in the end_  
_But when you got nobody to turn to_  
_Just hold on, and I'll find you_  
_I'll find you_  
_I'll find you  
_ _Just hold on, and I'll find you_

"I think the cure is killing him," Sam said, voice broken as he hunched in the hallway outside the dungeon. Inside, Dean was chained to a chair in the middle of a Devil's Trap, head slumped down against his chest.

"We have to keep going," Castiel pressed. They couldn't allow Dean to remain a demon.

"What if we're wrong?" Sam snapped. "I can't…I can't kill him, Cas."

Castiel inhaled sharply. "We have to keep going," he repeated. "But I might be able to do something to help."

Sam quirked a confused brow at him. "What?"

"Part of Dean is still in there somewhere, I have to believe that. If we can get him to fight, to hold on, he can come out the other side."

Sam still looked uncertain. "And how are we gonna do that?"

Castiel's expression was grim as he moved past Sam and into the dungeon. Dean didn't stir at their footsteps, utterly spent by the injections that were ripping into his demonic essence and dismantling it. Castiel stepped into the trap and right up to the chair. He placed one hand on Dean's shoulder, the other across his forehead.

"Cas?" Sam asked warily.

"Dean's still in there," he reiterated. "I'll find him. Keep going with the scheduled injections."

And with that, Castiel pushed his way into Dean's mind.

He was surprised to find himself in a gray tinged forest. Why did Dean's subconscious resemble Purgatory? Castiel slowly turned, unnerved by the utter stillness. Not that there had been birds in Purgatory, but he was struck with a profound sense of…emptiness.

Castiel drew his shoulders back and picked a direction to start walking. He would not accept that Dean was lost to them. They were halfway through the cure, so part of Dean's soul had to be here somewhere, had to be unfurling from the demonic oppression. Castiel had once claimed Dean's soul from the Pit, and he would do so again.

He focused his senses on that ping of angelic grace inlaid into the Righteous Man's soul so long ago, and detected the faintest thrum. Castiel latched onto it and quickened his pace. He moved swiftly between trees and shrubs, driven by single-minded purpose. At one point, the ground shuddered and groaned, almost pitching him off his feet. Castiel frowned as the air wavered and something shrieked in the distance. Sam must have given another injection.

Castiel kept moving. Until at last he came upon a stream and found Dean standing at the water's edge, gazing down at the rippling water. Castiel's heart leaped with relief.

"Dean."

Dean snapped his gaze up. "Cas? What…are you really here?"

Castiel strode forward, closing the distance. "Yes. Dean, do you remember what happened after you fought Metatron?"

Dean looked away, gaze dropping back to the stream, to his reflection. "Yes," he said, voice cracking. "I…god, Cas." He straightened abruptly. "You have to kill me."

Castiel frowned. "Dean, no. Listen to me, Sam is giving you the demon cure, but you have to hold on. You have to keep fighting to get through it." To survive it.

Dean started shaking his head. "The demon's too strong."

"No, it's not." Castiel grabbed his arm fiercely. "The cure is working. You're here and you're  _you_. You just have to hold on a little longer."

"The demon is me!" he shouted, wrenching away. Castiel's heart fractured at the brokenness in his eyes.

Dean ran a hand down his face. "I tried to kill Sam. I can't—I  _won't_  risk doing that again."

"Then fight. Because Sam won't kill you." Castiel lifted his chin. "And neither will I." Not while a part of Dean still lived. It was one thing to destroy a demon that was so thoroughly corrupted nothing would redeem it. But that was not Dean. Not now.

Dean gazed at him pleadingly. "Cas…"

Castiel gripped his arm again, high near the shoulder. "Let me bottom line this for you," he said, digging up old words spoken in a forest just like this. "I'm not leaving here without you."

Dean gaped at him in stupor. But when the next injection ripped through his body and reverberated through his mind, Dean clung to Castiel. And vice versa.

_I'm hanging on by a thread_  
_And all I'm clinging to is prayers_  
_And every breath is like a battle_  
_I feel like I ain't come prepared_  
_And death's knockin' on the front door_  
_Pain's creepin' through the back_  
_Fear's crawlin' through the windows  
_ _Waiting for em' to attack_

Dean stared at the Mark on his arm, inflamed red and risen like a hideous scar. Which was exactly what it was. Just one that wasn't only a blemish on flesh, but also down to his very soul.

He knocked back another swig of whiskey. The caustic burn made him wince and filled his stomach with warmth. But it wasn't the soothing kind. It felt like brimstone in his blood, the echoes of sulfur and black eyes and a numbing void in his heart. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, a broken prayer crumbling to ash before it could leave his lips. God had never answered them before. But Dean was at the end of his rope, the last dregs of desperate hope disintegrating into chaff through his fingers.

Sam and Cas had cured him of being a demon, but all they'd done was reset the clock. The Mark still had its hooks in him, still owned him. And one day it would claim him again, twist him into the very thing he despised and hunted. It was only a matter of time.

His chest constricted, lungs tightening with need for oxygen in a way his body had gotten used to not needing for the past few months. The Mark whispered susurrations of violence, stirred his blood to rage and chaos, filled his head with visions of beating Sam with a hammer.

Dean dropped his head into his hands, fingers clenching in his hair. No, no, no. Not again. He couldn't lose himself to that again.

But he was a hair's trigger away from it, he knew.

Once upon a time, an angel had raised him from Hell, rescued him from Alastair's pit and tutelage that would have mutilated and corrupted his soul until he was a black-eyed sadist. And with one impulsive decision—much like when he'd sold his soul—he was right back on that same path.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

_They say "Don't get bitter, get better"_  
_I'm working on switching them letters_  
_But tell God I'mma need a whole lotta hope keeping it together_  
_I'm smilin' in everyone's face_  
_I'm cryin' whenever they leave the room_  
_They don't know the battle I face  
_ _They don't understand what I'm going through_

"I'm fine."

How many times did he have to keep saying it?

…Until he convinced himself of the fraud he was so blatantly perpetrating.

Sam's and Cas's looks of worry and sympathy cut to his heart, and Dean wanted to scream at them to stop, just stop. But he couldn't let his facade crack, couldn't let them see that he was slowly dying on the inside. It was his job to hold his chin up and soldier on, for their sakes.

But behind closed doors, when the nightmares of blood and screams came to choke the life out of him, Dean couldn't help but wonder what the point of holding on in the first place had been.

_The world tryna play with my soul_  
_I'm just tryna find where to go_  
_I'm tryna remember the way  
_ _I'm tryna get back to my home_

He tried changing his diet, tried eating Sam's rabbit food in a pathetic effort to 'cleanse' his body and thereby maybe,  _maybe_ , strengthening his constitution against the Mark's influence. He tried meditation. And soothing classical music at one point, but that was frankly worse than the salads.

Besides, none of it worked. Dean felt adrift, sinking. Sam and Cas were steady presences and he'd made the bunker his home, but it was all hollow as the Mark slowly devoured his soul bit by bit. The worst part was killing himself wasn't even a solution, because he'd just wake up as a demon again.

There was no escape, no finding his way back.

They just needed to accept it.

_But I can't do this on my own_  
_That's why I'm just trusting in you_  
_Cuz I don't know where else to go  
_ _And I don't know what else to do_

"Cas, I need you to promise me something."

Cas looked over. "Of course."

Dean's heart gave a pang, because that was always the angel's answer. And Dean knew how to take advantage of it.

"If I go dark side, you got to take me out."

Cas's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Knife me. Smite me. Throw me into the freakin' sun, whatever. And don't let Sam get in the way, because he'll try." Just like Sam had refused to give up and kept trying to cure him of being a demon. But that success hadn't really been a victory. "I can't go down that road again, man. I can't be that thing again."

Cas didn't say anything for a long moment. Part of Dean had expected a little bit of protest, but Cas had always been a pragmatist, and no matter how much it hurt, Dean needed him to do this.

Cas finally met his gaze. "I promise you won't lose yourself."

Dean looked away. That could be taken a number of ways, but Dean was going to hold onto the promise that when it came down to it, Cas wouldn't let the demon win.

And that had to be good enough.

_Just fight a little longer, my friend_  
_It's all worth it in the end_  
_But when you've got nobody to turn to_  
_Just hold on, and I'll find you_  
_I'll find you_  
_I'll find you  
_ _Just hold on, and I'll find you_

"You can leave now, Cas."

"No, I can't," Castiel replied, his blood racing and heart pounding as he stood amidst the carnage in the bunker, all at Dean Winchester's hand. "Because I'm your friend."

"Really?" Dean said darkly. "Well, let me ask you something. Do you screw over all your friends?"

Castiel gritted his teeth at the biting accusation. "Sam and I were trying to cure you. We still are!"

"Like hell," Dean snarled.

"We can read the Book now," he pressed. They were getting close. Dean just had to hold on a little longer…

Dean stalked toward him. "Oh, so what? So you  _might_  find a spell that  _might_  take this crap off my arm?" His eyes blazed with fury. "But even if you do, what's it gonna cost? 'Cause magic like that does not come free. No, it comes with a price that you pay in blood! So thanks, but I'm good."

He turned to leave, and Castiel grabbed his shoulder to wrench him back around.

"No, you're not! Maybe you could fight the Mark for years. Maybe centuries, like Cain did. But you cannot fight it forever. And when you finally turn, and you will turn…" His stomach clenched. "Sam, and everyone you know, everyone you love…they could be long dead." His chest constricted. "Everyone except me. I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world. So if there's even a small chance that we can save you, I won't let you walk out of this room."

Dean's expression smoothed into one of deadly calm. "Oh, you think you have a choice."

And, in the end, he didn't.

_They say fear haunts_  
_And pain hates_  
_I say pain strengthens_  
_And fear drives faith_  
_And I don't know all of the outcomes_  
_Don't know what happens tomorrow_  
_But when that ocean of doubt comes  
_ _Don't let me drown in my sorrow_

"Anything?" Cas asked.

Sam finished filling the bullet he was working on and added it to the rack. "Twelve voicemails. LoJack on the Impala has clearly been disabled. So a big heaping scoop of nothing." He shook his head in frustration. "We need Rowena to hold up her end of the bargain—now."

He reached for the next bullet, and heard Cas let out an exasperated sigh.

"What?" Sam demanded, turning to face the angel.

"Nothing," Cas replied, but hesitated. "It's- it's just if she removes the Mark using The Book of the Damned…what of the consequences?"

Sam huffed. "Which are what?"

"Dean said—"

"Dean guessed!" He took a deep breath and let it out loudly. "Cas, what are we supposed to do, huh? Just sit on our asses, do nothing?"

"No, we find Dean," he rejoined sharply.

"And then what?" Sam shouted. "The only thing that stopped Cain was death. Do you want to kill Dean? Because I don't. And the only way I know how to save my brother is to cure the Mark. And, yes, I know there will be consequences," he went on. "But not you, not Dean, not anybody can tell me what those consequences are. So I'm not gonna let my brother destroy himself on a guess. We save Dean."

Because the alternative was unacceptable. And Sam had to believe that they could do this. They'd stopped the Apocalypse, locked Lucifer back in the Cage, defeated the Leviathan and survived an angel civil war on Earth. This was just another hurdle they had to get over,  _together_. Because that's what they always did.

_And don't let me stay at the bottom_  
_I feel like this hole is too deep to climb_  
_I've been lookin' for a way out_  
_But I'll settle for a peace of mind_  
_Picking up the pieces of my life and hopin' that I put together something right_  
_Tell me all I got is all I need  
_ _Tell me you gon' help me stay and fight_

Sam held his head in his hands. Cas had been right. Dean had been right. He'd saved his brother but doomed the world. The Darkness was free, a primordial force that threatened to destroy everything.

So, business as usual.

Sam let out a strangled laugh. It wasn't funny. How many times were they going to play this game? He should have known better. He  _did_  know better. God, this was all his fault.

And so he would find a way to fix it. He cured that town of rabid people, and he'd done it while infected himself. They'd figure this out too, especially now that Dean was back and saved. Sam didn't regret that, even though the consequences had been earth-shattering. Because as long as Dean was by his side fighting, they could get through it.

And then there were the visions. Sam couldn't help but wonder if God was reaching out after all this time. Yeah, they'd screwed up, but if God was giving him a way to fix it…

Sam just had to hope that he'd be able to do the right thing when it came down to it.

_The world trying to play with my soul_  
_I'm just tryna find where to go_  
_I'm trying to remember the way  
_ _I'm trying to get back to my home_

"Dean, we need to seriously discuss me going to the Cage."

"Okay. Not happening. Good talk."

Sam huffed in frustration.

"Sam," Dean cut him off before he could respond. "Even if these visions are real…" And he still didn't sound as though he believed that one whit.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, knowing what his brother was getting at. "It's Lucifer? And me? In the Cage? I know." It terrified him. All those memories of being in the Cage with the Devil, the torture, and the visions reminding him of all that anguish and agony. "But this- this lump in my throat…it's not an excuse. Not anymore."

_"One thing I've learned—heroes aren't perfect."_

_"Sometimes they're scared. But that just means the thing that they're facing, it's super important. And nobody else is gonna go for it, because nobody else has got the balls."_

"We'll find another way," Dean said doggedly. "Okay? There's always another way."

Sam was silent for a moment. "Okay," he said quietly. "Then tell me—what is the other way?"

_But I can't do this on my own_  
_That's why I'm just trusting in you_  
_Cuz I don't know where else to go  
_ _And I don't know what else to do_

Sam chose to have faith, even though it took every last ounce of strength within his bones to face down Lucifer. Even when the warding failed and Lucifer snapped his fingers and Sam found himself suddenly  _inside_  the temporary cage.

He scrambled backward into the corner, chest heaving and lungs burning. Lucifer stalked toward him.

"Hey, Sam Winchester. Did you miss me? I bet you did."

Sam forced himself to take a deep breath, to quiet his panic and trust in the plan. He drew his shoulders back.

Lucifer canted an amused look at him. "I have to say, you're extraordinarily calm given the circumstances."

His throat bobbed, but he managed to maintain a level tone. "Well, it's pretty much exactly how God told me it was going to be. Guess I just have to go with it and play my hand."

Lucifer pursed his mouth in a simpering moue. "Well, that would make so much sense if it was God that was doing the talking." He shrugged guilefully. "You see Sam, when the Darkness descended, the impact on Hell was massive. The Cage was damaged. Through the fissures I was able to reach out." Lucifer's lips stretched into a satisfied smile. "It wasn't God inside your head Sam. It was me."

Sam's heart stuttered. Wait, what? No…no, that couldn't…

Lucifer tutted in feigned sympathy. "So you see, he's not with you. He's never been with you. It was always…just…me."

_No don't let the fear_  
_Make you feel like you can't fight this on your own_  
_You know I, I'll be there for you no matter where you go  
_ _You'll never be alone, no_

Castiel grunted with each punishing blow that Lucifer rained down upon him. Skin split and copper splashed in his mouth. Grace shuddered and fractured. Dean ran to Sam on the other side of the cage.

Lucifer planted a boot on Castiel's blade, gripped his shoulder with one hand and raised the other. "So, last words…?"

Castiel's chest burned with Amara's message carved into the flesh of his fragile vessel. She was a bigger threat to the world, and they couldn't defeat her. Castiel was utterly helpless to protect his family. He was used up and broken and had nothing left to give.

"Can you really beat her?" he ground out.

Lucifer's eyes gleamed. "I can."

Then he could do what Castiel could not. Castiel couldn't bear to lose his family again, not after everything, not after almost losing Dean to the Mark. And now Amara wanted him, and Castiel couldn't do anything.

"Then yes."

_Just fight a little longer, my friend_  
_It's all worth it in the end_  
_But,when you've got nobody to turn to  
_ _Just hold on, and I'll find you_

Lucifer's grace burned. It was like being encased in an inferno, and there was no escape for Castiel. But he just had to hold on long enough for Lucifer to defeat Amara.

Except, it seemed the Devil might have overstated his ability to do that, and Castiel began to wonder if he'd made a mistake. But he didn't regret his decision. Lucifer still had a better chance at beating the Darkness than Castiel did on his own. And after that, he had faith the Winchesters would be able to stop Lucifer, either throw him back in the Cage or kill him for good. They'd triumphed over him before, after all.

So, really, this would be like killing two birds with one stone, in the end. And it would be worth it. Castiel's last act of service in the fight.

_"Cas,"_  Dean's broken voice filtered through, muffled and slightly distorted.  _"You…"_  Anger flitted over the prayer line, but was gone just as quickly.  _"Hang on, okay? We'll fix this. You…you just have to hold on."_

There wasn't really anything to fix. It was better this way.

_"Cas. Castiel."_  Sam.  _"I know why you did this. It's just…it wasn't supposed to be you. It was never supposed to be you."_

Better him than Sam. Dean's current grief would last only a short time, whereas losing Sam would destroy him.

_"I know Lucifer seems like our best shot,"_  Sam went on.  _"So…okay. But when it's over, we're not letting him keep you. So you have to be ready for that fight. You have to come back from this."_

_"I am not losing you again,"_  Dean said fiercely.  _"You never gave up on me, and I sure as hell aren't giving up on you, you son-of-a-bitch."_

Castiel closed his eyes, but didn't shut them out. Hearing their voices reminded him why he'd had to do this. It was worth it.

_Just fight a little longer, my friend_  
_It's all worth it in the end_  
_But when you've got nobody to turn to_  
_Just hold on, and I'll find you_  
_I'll find you_  
_I'll find you  
_ _Just hold on, and I'll find you_

Dean turned in a slow circle, unnerved to be standing in a facsimile of the bunker, but one with a gaping black hole torn through the middle of it. The result of Amara ripping Lucifer from Cas's body in that final battle? The Devil and the Darkness had dealt each other mortal blows, but Cas had been caught in the backlash, and was currently lying in a coma while his vessel slowly wasted away. In truth, they weren't even sure Cas was still  _in_  there. But Dean wasn't going to give up without trying, and so Rowena had cast a spell to send his consciousness into Cas's in the hopes of finding the angel and bringing him back.

But the devastation Dean found himself in twisted his gut with worry. He scanned the portion of the library still intact, but it was empty. Glancing over his shoulder toward the hallways, he found that they, too, descended into darkness, a fractured landmark ripped from time and space.

Dean's heart clenched. "Come on, Cas," he murmured. "Where are you?"

Something pinged deep within his sternum, a soft trill with an almost angelic note. Dean furrowed his brow. It couldn't be…could it?

What was Cas always saying, that they had some 'profound bond'? What if he meant it literally?

Dean closed his eyes and focused on that faint chime. It pinged again, and Dean felt a slight tug. He snapped his eyes open and turned to the vast emptiness stretching before him where he sensed the thrum emanating from. Oh, that couldn't be good…

He vaguely felt Sam's presence in the back of his mind. Rowena had set him up as an anchor to help pull them back out at the end. Dean poked at the thread, and felt a reverberation of surprise followed by annoyance ripple back down.

Alright then. With Sam holding on from his end, Dean could brave the abyss. He squared his shoulders and strode into the pitch black. It was instantly cold. Dean ran his gaze over the onyx ground, then cast a look over his shoulder back at the library. Probably best to keep that in sight.

As long as Cas wasn't too far from it.

The connection with Sam snapped taut with concern, and Dean grimaced. Yeah, it was growing thin the further he went. But he couldn't turn back now. The hum in his core was growing louder—albeit not stronger.

"Cas?" he called.

There was a flicker in response, and Dean turned toward it. His brows flew upward as he finally caught sight of a flash of tan trench coat. "Cas!"

He ran forward and slid to his knees on the glassy surface next to the angel, who was kneeling in a slumped position.

"Cas!" Dean gripped his arms, ecstatic and relieved but also trembling with worry.

Cas blinked at him slowly. "Dean?"

"Yeah, hey, buddy."

Cas squinted. "What are you doing here?"

Dean frowned at the hollow, disconnected sound in his voice. "I came to find you. You've been in a coma ever since Amara yanked Lucifer out of you."

A crease formed between his brows. "Lucifer…did he defeat the Darkness?"

"Yeah. Well, they both kinda ganked each other." Dean gave him an assuring squeeze. "It's over. We did it."

Cas visibly sagged. "And you and Sam are safe?"

"Sam's waiting for us to wake up. So come on." He tried pulling Cas to his feet, but the angel was like a deadweight and didn't move. "Cas."

"I'd…" Cas blinked languidly. "I think I'd like to stay here."

Dean gaped at him. "What? Dude, did you miss the part where I said you're in a coma? You're dying!"

Cas nodded slowly. "I know. Dean, I'm tired. Just let this happen. Let my last act be to have done something good to help you."

Dean's blood turned to ice. "Your last act?" he spat. "Your last act is going to be giving up! After everything."

Sam's concern suddenly rippled down with an echo, and Dean clenched his jaw to keep a rein on his emotions.

"Don't do this," he pleaded.

Cas's eyes wavered with pain so deep it stole Dean's breath away. "I don't have anything left."

Dean tightened his hold on Cas's arms, practically shaking him. "You have me and Sam."

"I have nothing left to  _give_."

"What? That doesn't even make sense!"

Cas let out a bone weary sigh. "Dean, please," he whispered.

_No_. At a loss as to what to do, Dean pulled Cas into a fierce embrace, clinging desperately even as he felt his best friend slipping away.

The connection to Sam must have communicated some of that, because the next thing he felt was his brother's staunch fire resonating through the anchor in fervency. Cas stiffened, and pulled back slightly to give Dean a startled look.

"Cas," he said meaningfully. "I'm not leaving here without you."

Cas's expression pinched with distress. "Dean, I- I'm not strong enough…" And he looked it, too, looked so beaten down and drained that Dean truly did doubt he was capable of getting up.

So Dean pulled him into a hug again. "Then just hold on."

Finally, slowly, Cas lifted his arms to clutch at Dean in return.

_Sammy? Bring us home._


	14. "Fix You" - Coldplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as an attempt to write some sick!Cas for KoshiSekisen…and somehow turned into a very angsty song fic instead. 0_o
> 
> Song: "Fix You" by Coldplay  
> Setting: Season 7, mixture of canon and AU  
> Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam  
> Summary: They break, and shatter, and try to put each other back together.

 

* * *

"Fix You" - Coldplay 

_When you try your best, but you don't succeed_  
_When you get what you want, but not what you need_  
_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep  
_ _Stuck in reverse_

Dean sat in the dark corner of the motel room, a liquor bottle dangling tiredly in one hand as he watched his brother toss and turn in his sleep. He could only guess what Hell memories were tormenting Sam now that the wall in his head was broken.

Dean's fingers tightened around the bottle, and he lifted it to knock back another swig. It burned on the way down, but failed to wash out the bitter taste in his mouth. He was…so angry. But he couldn't content himself with just being pissed at Cas, because Cas was dead.

Every time Dean closed his eyes, he saw his friend wading into that reservoir and slipping beneath the surface, followed by an eruption of black ink. And then that stupid trench coat floated back to the shore, stained in mud, grime, and blood. The only piece of the angel left, that showed he ever existed in the first place. That, and the mess he'd left behind with the Leviathan and Sam having Hallucifer running rampant in his head.

But as much as he was angry with Cas…Dean was angry with himself, too. Sometimes, in the dead of night like this, he'd wonder what he could have done differently to make the idiot angel listen to him…or maybe he should have listened.

But those thoughts wouldn't change anything, and it was easier to hold onto the anger instead. Especially when Sam let out a whimper or whispered sob to "please, stop."

The Leviathan were loose, preparing to enslave the world. Bobby was dead. Sam was slowly losing himself to insanity. And a small, petulant part of Dean would lift his gaze heavenward as though in prayer and think, "I told you so." But there was no one left to hear it.

Except himself.

_And the tears come streaming down your face_  
_When you lose something you can't replace_  
_When you love someone, but it goes to waste  
_ _Could it be worse?_

Sam was dying.

After everything, Dean couldn't lose him, too. And so he sought out this Emmanuel he'd heard could perform miracles. Never in a million years would he have expected to come face to face with the visage of Jimmy Novak.

And despite the anger he'd been carrying for so long, a small part of his broken spirit stirred with life. His best friend  _wasn't_  dead.

Except, Cas didn't remember anything. Not who he was, or that he was even an angel.

So Dean's best friend was still lost to him.

Could fate be more cruel?

_Lights will guide you home_  
_And ignite your bones  
_ _And I will try to fix you_

"I remember you."

The edges of his vision were still coated in phantom wisps of the golden aura of an angel's divine power. He was an angel. He was Castiel—Cas.

He turned around to face Dean. "I remember everything."

And he wished he didn't.

"What I did…what I became…" It was too much, the weight of his sin. He flashed Dean a sharp look. "Why didn't you tell me?" How could Dean have let him continue on blissfully unaware that he was responsible for  _all_  of this?

Dean's throat bobbed. "Because Sam is dying in there."

"Because of  _me_." Castiel shook his head in growing horror. "Everything…all these people…" He pushed past Dean. "I shouldn't be here."

"Cas. Cas!"

He ignored Dean's calls and strode as quickly as he could away from the hospital. Dean's footsteps echoed on his heels.

"If you remember, then you know you did the best you could at the time."

"Don't defend me," Castiel snapped over his shoulder. "Do you have any idea the death toll in Heaven? On Earth?" He stopped abruptly and spun around. "We didn't part friends, Dean."

And that hurt, just as much as the rest.

Dean's jaw ticked, but he lifted his chin. "So what?"

"I  _deserved_  to die." Castiel looked away, the crushing guilt and remorse becoming too much. "Now, I can't possibly fix it… So why did I even walk out of that river?"

Dean was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, "Maybe to fix it."

Castiel dropped his gaze again. Didn't Dean see, he  _couldn't_?

"Wait," the Winchester said, and opened the trunk of the car they'd happened to stop next to. Castiel briefly wondered where the Impala was.

Dean reached into the trunk and took out a folded, filthy coat. Castiel's coat. Dean held it out to him.

Castiel wavered. Part of him wanted to make things right, wanted to redeem himself to the Winchesters. Another part of him wanted to run, to burn his old self like he deserved.

But in the end, he knew he couldn't escape his mistakes. As Emmanuel, all he'd wanted to do was help people. Sam needed his help, was in trouble because of him. Castiel owed it to his old friends to at least try.

He donned the coat and spread his wings.

Castiel landed in Sam's hospital room just as a demon was readying an electroshock machine. He planted a hand on the demon's head and poured divine wrath into him, searing him from the inside out. As the corpse dropped to the floor, Castiel quickly turned off the machine and removed the electrodes and mouth guard from Sam. His heart gave a pang at the Winchester's pale and haggard appearance.

"I should never have broken your wall, Sam," he said with pained remorse. "I'm here to make it right."

But when he touched Sam's head, nothing happened.

The wall had crumbled.

Dean was justifiably upset. Sam was going to suffer a long, slow, and agonizing death, plagued by waking nightmares of Lucifer and Hell. All because of Castiel. And he couldn't  _fix_  it.

But…

"I may be able to shift it," Castiel said suddenly.

"Shift?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah, it would get Sam back on his feet." He made his way over to the bed and sat on the edge. Sam recoiled from him. "It's better this way," Castiel added. "I'll be fine."

Meaning this wouldn't kill him. And that was the reason he'd walked out of that river.

To drown in fire was a more fitting punishment anyway.

_And high up above or down below_  
_When you're too in love to let it go_  
_But if you never try you'll never know  
_ _Just what you're worth_

Castiel never expected the fires to recede and for peace to settle over him instead. He knew on some level that he didn't deserve this, but he also didn't have the wherewithal to question it, either. He simply embraced his new outlook on life, one in which he didn't fight anymore, and contented himself with watching the bees. This way he could do no harm.

Not that he wouldn't still help the Winchesters. He did owe them, after all. But he wasn't going to fight. He would make sandwiches and fly off to gather spell ingredients. Those tasks were easy enough that not even he could screw them up.

Except, he must have, because the Leviathan found them shortly after he returned from an errand. He couldn't be sure he'd led them to the Winchesters, but he couldn't rule it out, either.

Bullets were flying as Sam and Dean tried to make their escape. Even Meg was standing her ground, armed with an angel blade. Castiel marveled at his brave, thorny beauty.

"Cas, come on!" Dean shouted as he reached the car. A Leviathan was three seconds from intercepting him.

Castiel didn't fight anymore, not that smiting worked against these beasts of old. But he could help in other ways.

He flew across the yard and landed in front of Dean, shielding him from attack. And when the Leviathan reared its elongated claws, Castiel stood there unmoving as they plunged into his side.

He thought he heard a shout, but the shock was too overwhelming to fully register anything else. It had been a while since he'd felt such intense pain, and Castiel willingly gave himself over to it.

_Lights will guide you home_  
_And ignite your bones  
_ _And I will try to fix you_

Sam soaked the ratty hand towel in the bowl of cool water and then wrung it out before placing it over Cas's forehead again. The angel gazed up at him with glassy eyes. At least he was conscious now, though the silent staring was a little unnerving for Sam. He couldn't tell if it was part of the fever or wound, or Cas's current splash of crazy. Either way, Sam's gut was a knot of worry.

He lifted the edge of the blanket and folded it back to expose Cas's side. The hospital scrubs he was wearing had made it easy to swathe his stomach in bandages, but Sam's jaw tightened as he noticed a patch of black seeping through them. Was Leviathan poison always fatal to angels? Or was there a chance Cas could recover?

Sam wished his friend could tell him. Or he wished some of Cas's old garrison were still around so he could ask them. But they were all dead. Also attacked by Leviathan.

Cas finally shifted, craning his head around. "Where's Meg?"

"Laying a false trail," Sam replied. "We were attacked by Leviathan, remember?"

They'd barely escaped, and then it had been a harrowing drive with blood and goo and screaming in the backseat until Cas had finally passed out and Meg had tried to patch him up as best she could before they'd finally arrived at another one of Bobby's safe houses.

Cas blinked sluggishly. "Oh. Yes." A brutal cough punched its way up his throat, and his face scrunched up as he fell back against the flat pillow, wheezing. "Sam, I don't feel well."

"I know." He adjusted the cool cloth that was doing nothing to ease the fever waging war in the angel's body. But he didn't know what else to do except wait it out and hope for a miracle.

Cas fell quiet again for several long minutes, and then lifted his gaze to Sam's. "Where's Dean?" he asked quietly.

Sam hesitated. Dean had gone out to add extra warding to the area, but he should have been done by now. Chances were he was avoiding coming back in.

Cas's expression fell when Sam took too long to answer. "It's okay," he said. "You can go if Dean's waiting for you."

Sam frowned. "He's not waiting for me. And I'm not leaving you alone like this." He swallowed hard. "Will- will you even heal?"

Cas furrowed his brow in apparent consideration. "I'm not sure. I can feel the poison. It's like…barbed wire worming through my grace."

Sam cringed.

"But it's okay," Cas went on, even as he shivered.

"It's not," Sam said, frustration bubbling up at his helplessness. "And if you can't heal yourself, then we'll just figure out some other way to get you better."

Cas's mouth turned down. "You said that once. Why do you keep thinking I need to get better?"

Sam's chest constricted. "Because you're sick." In more ways than one.

Cas lolled his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. "It's okay," he repeated. "I deserve this."

_Tears stream down your face_  
_When you lose something you cannot replace_  
_Tears stream down your face  
_ _And I_

Sam's heart clenched with grief over the broken state of his friend. All because Cas had taken on Sam's Cage trauma himself. And now Cas was lost, and he didn't even know it.

Worse, Cas thought he  _deserved_  all of this. Which he didn't. Yeah, he'd made a mistake working with Crowley and popping open Purgatory, but he'd done it for the right reasons. Both Sam and Dean were intimately familiar with that kind of desperate action. And maybe Dean thought Cas should have known better, should have learned from their mistakes—but it wasn't like they'd jumped into their own deals with the devil blind.

There was so much of the past year Sam wished he could take back and do over. Being soulless hadn't helped, and he knew on a rational level that hadn't been his fault. But he'd stood outside that ring of holy fire and accused Cas of bringing him back soulless on purpose. And the look of utter devastation and hurt on Cas's face at that still haunted him. Maybe they'd helped push Cas over the edge instead of reeling him back in. Like friends were supposed to do.

Cas let out a small whimper and tossed his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. "Lucifer, no, please."

Bile rose in the back of Sam's throat, but he swallowed it down. Lucifer wasn't in his head anymore. He picked up the cold compress that had slid down to the pillow and placed it back on Cas's brow, settling his hand over it. Cas started to still, though every few seconds or so, his facial muscles would twitch with agony.

Sam moved his other hand to Cas's forearm and squeezed gently. "It's okay, Cas. I'm right here. Lucifer's not."

Cas continued to shiver and mewl as his fever climbed higher, unleashing all the "aftertastes" of Lucifer the angel had said had disappeared.

And Sam didn't get up once. He'd borne those scars himself only a short time ago, and while the memory still haunted him, he could sit here and bear them with his friend.

_Tears stream down your face_  
_I promise you I will learn from my mistakes_  
_Tears stream down your face  
_ _And I_

Dean lingered outside the cabin door, just off to the side of the screen that looked in on the dingy hovel they were taking refuge in. He hadn't necessarily intended to eavesdrop on Sam and Cas; he'd just been debating whether he was done outside when their voices had filtered through the open door to his ears. And now he wanted to go in there even less.

He was sick with the thought that Cas expected Dean to abandon him here when he was hurt. Especially since the stupid angel had gotten hurt saving him. And that was another sore subject festering in Dean's gut, because he'd seen Cas jump in front of that Leviathan—and not do a damn thing to defend himself. He'd just stood there and let the Leviathan tear into him. The bastard could have been killed if Dean hadn't been close enough to leap in and lop off the monster's head. There was so much wrong with that, Dean didn't even know where to start.

And he also didn't know where to start with the idea that Cas expected them to leave him here, aside from yelling and reaming out the idiot angel. But Dean knew that wouldn't be a productive approach here.

And, he had to admit, it wasn't like Cas's expectation was unwarranted. They  _had_  abandoned him at the mental hospital, left him when he was hurt and vulnerable. Sure, they'd left Meg to watch over him—although that was a pathetic gesture at best. And maybe Dean had good reasons at the time, but the truth was if it was Sam, Dean would have done everything it took to keep his brother with him. He had done everything it took. Cas deserved at least that much, despite what had happened between them.

Besides, Dean hadn't been completely innocent in it all, anyway. Maybe a small part of him had wanted to punish Cas, too, for what he'd done. Dean should have realized from the moment Cas said, "It's better this way," that the angel was wholly intent on punishing himself more.

Shoulders sagging, Dean finally pushed open the screen door and went inside. Sam glanced up briefly before returning to dabbing Cas's brow and whispering soothing words to him.

Dean walked over. "I'll take a turn," he said, a tad more gruffly than he meant to.

His brother gave him a doubting look, but after a beat, stood up and passed him the rag. "I'm gonna stretch my legs."

Dean took Sam's empty chair by the cot and soaked the cloth again. When he laid it across Cas's forehead, he winced at the heat radiating from the angel. A glance at the wound showed it looked just as bad as before. What if it didn't start healing soon?

Dean flicked a look toward the door, but Sam had gone. He leaned closer to Cas's head. "Hang in there, man. You gotta fight it, okay? Just hold on."

Cas's eyelids peeled open, pupils glazed and watery. "I deserved to die," he croaked.

Dean stiffened. "No, you didn't. You don't. Look, we all made mistakes." Words from a dark laboratory filtered through his memory. "But you don't have to redeem yourself to me. You saved Sam, took his crazy, and that's enough." And Dean found that he meant it. Yeah, a lot of pain could have been avoided, but it wasn't solely Cas's fault.

Cas's gaze wavered, though, and he slowly turned his head away. And Dean knew with sinking clarity that Cas didn't believe him.

And he didn't know how to fix that.

_Lights will guide you home_  
_And ignite your bones  
_ _And I will try to fix you_

Sam and Dean spent the next twelve hours by Cas's side, trying to cool the raging fever, flushing out the wounds and changing the bandages as putrid poison oozed out, and speaking to him softly whenever the nightmares grew intense. Sometimes it seemed like it would never end, that they were just sitting there watching Cas die, but at long last, his fever broke, and there were signs of healing in the wounds.

Sam was exhausted, and when Cas's breathing finally evened out and the angel settled into what appeared to be a restful sleep, he and Dean took their turns grabbing some shut-eye.

When Sam woke a few hours later, he found Cas laying on his side on the cot and staring at him. He quickly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Hey, Cas," he said quietly in case his brother was still asleep, but Dean instantly stirred at that.

Cas just gazed up at him blankly. "I'm alive."

Sam broke into a relieved smile and crouched down next to the cot. "Yeah."

Dean came over and immediately lifted the hem of Cas's scrubs to check the wound. "What do you know, good as new," he proclaimed.

Cas glanced down at his stomach, then back at them. "Thank you, for your care," he said tentatively, as though he couldn't quite believe they'd done that for him.

"That's what family does for each other," Dean said soberly, and Sam shot his brother a surprised look. Not because Dean considered Cas family, but that he'd said it out loud. Cas needed to hear it, though.

The angel also looked bewildered, and he started to sit up. "Does this mean…you forgive me?"

Dean's jaw was tense, but Sam could see it in his brother's eyes, and so answered for him.

"Yes." He'd forgiven Cas long ago, anyway.

Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. And…we're gonna fix things." His look was heavy with meaning as he gazed at Cas, and Sam could tell that Cas still didn't understand that there was yet more healing he needed. But Sam and Dean were in agreement here, and they were going to try and help him find himself again.

They'd find a way to bring their angel home.


	15. "Far From Home" - Five Finger Death Punch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd gotten a few one shots written before I got so sick, so I'll have some to post for a couple of Wednesdays.
> 
> Song: "Far From Home" by Five Finger Death Punch  
> Setting: Season 8, mixture of canon and AU  
> Characters: Castiel, Dean  
> Summary: Naomi broke him down and reshaped the fragments. All Castiel wants is to go home.

 

* * *

"Far From Home" - Five Finger Death Punch

_Another day in this carnival of souls_  
_Another night settles in as quickly as it goes_  
_The memories of shadows, ink on the page  
_ _And I can't seem to find my way home_

Castiel gazed down at Dean's broken body laying crumpled at his feet, horror stealing his breath and compressing his lungs. A few paces away lay another dead Dean, and another. Bodies scattered across the floor in a trail of death and betrayal. The angel blade hung heavily in Castiel's hand. It should have been dripping by now with how much blood it had spilled.

The lights went out, plunging him into darkness once more. A voice reverberated like serrated glass in his head.

_"Again."_

_No_. It wasn't real, couldn't be real. But it hurt, every time.

A shuffling sounded to his right, followed by a hissed whisper. "Cas? You there?"

 _No_. Castiel turned the other direction and attempted to escape. But he'd only gone a few feet before he nearly plowed into another facsimile of Dean. The Winchester's mouth dropped open with a gasp, and startled eyes lifted to meet his. Castiel glanced down at the angel blade sticking between the human's ribs. No, he hadn't meant to…

Dean slid to the floor and fell still. Just like all the others. Castiel blinked and the lights came on again, jolting him out of what felt like a dream. His heart quailed in devastation at what he'd done.

There was a huff of vexation. "Again, Castiel."

Pitch black enveloped him, coating his mind in a strange curtain of darkness as well. When Dean stumbled through the shadows toward him, part of Castiel screamed at himself to run. But as his blade sliced into tender, mortal flesh, another part of him snuffed out like a dying candle flame.

_And it's almost like_  
_Your heaven's trying everything_  
_Your heaven's trying everything  
_ _To keep me out_

Castiel knew this was Heaven, but it wasn't anything like the fragrant gardens or peaceful abodes that made up the personal heavens of the souls in residence. No, this place was cold, sterile, and harsh. This side of Heaven wasn't the home Castiel knew and loved. But Naomi wouldn't let him leave.

"Please, stop," Castiel pleaded between sessions. He felt himself being shredded, bit by bit, and it was getting harder to hold onto himself. "This isn't what angels are meant for."

Naomi's stern visage bore down on him. "Angels were meant to follow orders." She took an imposing step forward and leaned in. " _Follow orders_ , Castiel."

He felt himself picking up his blade without thought. His body turned toward the warehouse as everything went dark again.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut in anguish. This wasn't Heaven.

It was hell.

_All the places I've been and things I've seen_  
_A million stories that made up a million shattered dreams_  
_The faces of people I'll never see again  
_ _And I can't seem to find my way home_

Castiel stabbed his blade through Dean's heart, and saw an alley outside a bar, Dean laughing hysterically and clapping a bemused Castiel on the shoulder. The memory shattered.

He plunged his blade into Dean's stomach, and felt the warm glow of gratitude and sincerity as he stood with Dean under a streetlamp. _"Don't ever change."_  More shards scattered, adding to the glittering fragments broken across an obsidian floor.

Castiel tried to cling to the phantom pieces, but they slipped through his fingers as Naomi's piercing drill drove all other thought from his mind. He was being dismantled, bit by bit. Castiel struggled. In the chair and in his mind, twisting and writhing to escape, to find his way back.

But there was darkness at every turn. He watched Sam's and Dean's faces evaporate into smoke, leaving him alone.

Castiel curled in on himself and wept.

_'Cause it's almost like_  
_Your heaven's trying everything to break me down_  
_'Cause it's almost like  
_ _Your heaven's trying everything to keep me out_

Castiel drove his fist into the side of Dean's face, again and again.

In a stark white room, Castiel slammed his blade against Naomi's desk. "Please," he begged.  _Don't make me do this. I don't want to do this_.

Naomi gazed back at him dispassionately. "End this, Castiel."

His fist raised of its own accord.

Back on Earth, it made contact with Dean's cheek, splintering bone.

"Cas," Dean gasped, throat thick with blood. "This isn't you. This isn't you."

Castiel raised his fist, but inside he was screaming. In Heaven, his hand rained down blows on Naomi's desk.

"Bring me the tablet!" she shouted.

Dean moaned. He was almost unrecognizable now, his face bloody and puffy, one eye completely swollen shut. "Cas," he gurgled. "Cas." He reached out shakily to grasp Castiel's wrist. "I know you're in there. I know you can hear me."

Castiel raised his blade, just as he was programmed to do, just as he'd done a thousand times already.

"Cas…" Dean's voice cracked. "It's me."

It was. It wasn't a fake, not a copy like the ones he'd slaughtered before. But the movements were second nature by now. Plunge down. Thrust. And then it would be over.

"We're family," Dean pleaded. "We need you. I need you."

Castiel's movements slowed. In Heaven he was nearly doubled over, palms bracing himself on Naomi's desk as he panted heavily.

"You have to choose, Castiel," Naomi snapped. "Us or them."

Did he even have a choice? Naomi had stolen his will, was even now forcing him to beat Dean to a bloody pulp with his own hands. And now she demanded he choose? Between his home that didn't want him and his dearest friends whom he'd betrayed? What was left for him? What was left of him?

Castiel felt a trickle of control seep down to his vessel, like an echo of a dream. He let the blade fall out of his grasp and clatter to the ground. Dean groaned and curled forward as Castiel stepped away from holding him up. The tablet lay just to his right, and Castiel reached down to pick it up.

As soon as he touched the sacred stone, the Enochian writing began to glow. Light coursed into his hands and up his arms, swallowing him in a blinding aura. He heard Naomi shout, and in the next instant, Castiel came fully back to himself, no longer split between Heaven and Earth. He was standing in a dark crypt, holding the Angel Tablet, with Dean horribly beaten at his feet.

Just like in the warehouse simulations.

"Cas?" Dean wheezed.

Castiel's heart clenched with anguish at what he'd done. He reached out his hand.

"No, Cas. Cas!" Dean cried desperately, his tone piercing down to Castiel's core as efficiently as Naomi's drill.

He placed his hand on the side of Dean's face and poured healing energy into him. The effect was instantaneous, and Dean gasped as suddenly all the contusions and broken bones were erased. But it didn't erase what Castiel had done.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," he said, thoroughly ashamed.

Dean scrambled to his feet. "What the hell just happened?"

Castiel didn't even know where to begin to explain, but he tried, keeping it short and to the point. Factual. As though that might diminish the pain still quivering in his heart.

"So, this 'Naomi' has been controlling you since she got you out of Purgatory?" Dean said.

"Yeah."

"Well, what broke the connection?"

"I don't know." He glanced down at the tablet. There had been a power surge. It was dormant now.

Almost as if on cue, there came a pulsing spike of pain behind his eyes, and Castiel doubled over with a gasp.

" _No_." He wouldn't go back, wouldn't let her tear him apart again.

Castiel dropped the tablet and reached both hands up to clutch at his head.

"Cas? Cas!" Dean was shouting.

He could feel her probing, pushing at his mind to regain control. Castiel threw his head back with a scream before blinding pain consumed him.

_'Cause it's almost like_  
_Your heaven's trying everything to break me down_  
_'Cause it's almost like_  
_Your heaven's trying everything_  
_Your heaven's trying everything to break me down_  
_To break me down  
_ _To break me down_

It was dark. But not like the training warehouse. This was a vast, inky fog that seemed to go on forever. Castiel wandered through it for a while, until he realized there was nowhere to go. At least he couldn't feel Naomi digging through his head.

But after a while, a voice started calling his name. It sounded like Dean.

Terror seized Castiel, and he turned and ran. He would not let Naomi force him to kill Dean again. If she got her hooks into him even just a fraction, he would be lost.

Not that he wasn't lost, in a way, at the moment, trapped in endless shadow and nothingness. Still, it was better than the alternative.

Castiel aimlessly roamed this cold and desolate wasteland without stopping, afraid that if he stopped to rest, he would be caught. Every so often, he would feel a throbbing in his head. At one point, wetness trickled down his cheek, and he wiped the back of his hand across his face. It came away smeared with blood.

Naomi must have been trying to reestablish control over him from a distance. Castiel wished he knew how to fight back, but he was powerless here, wherever here was. It was worse than Purgatory, and Castiel wished Naomi had never gotten him out.

There was a blur of color in the blackness up ahead, and Castiel froze as it turned into the figure of Dean.  _No_.

He spun and ran the opposite direction, but heavy footsteps were hot on his tail, and Castiel was worn too thin to maintain a decent speed. Dean caught up to him and grabbed his arm, wrenching him around so hard Castiel almost tripped.

"Cas, it's me! Would you just stop for one friggin' second?"

Castiel tried to break free, but Dean's grip was unyielding, and his knees ended up buckling instead. Castiel collapsed, and Dean grabbed him by the arms tightly, going down with him.

"Shit, what the hell did she do to you?"

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "I won't kill Dean. I won't kill Dean."

The hands around his biceps tightened. "Whoa, Cas, stop. You didn't kill me, okay?"

"I did," he choked out brokenly. "A thousand times."

There wasn't a blade in his hand yet, but Castiel couldn't trust it.

Dean was silent for a moment. "Not when it counted," he finally said quietly, and then shifted. "Now come on, you gotta wake up, man. I've been chasing you around your head for hours and Sam's probably worried sick."

Castiel blinked in confusion and lifted his eyes to really look at Dean. Unlike all the fakes Naomi had set on him, this one had that spark deep down—the soul of the Righteous Man Castiel had pulled from Hell.

"I- I don't understand," Castiel sputtered. "You're real?"

" _Yeah_." Dean huffed. "After you had a fit and passed out in the crypt, Sam and I got you back to the Men of Letters bunker, and then we found a spell to go into your head. We didn't really have another idea on how to break the brainwashing."

Castiel gaped at him. "That was reckless."

Dean just flashed him his typical, cocky grin, but then his expression sobered. "I'm sorry we didn't help you sooner. I knew something was off with you, but I did nothing."

"There wasn't anything you could have done," Castiel pointed out. "Naomi was in Heaven and unreachable." He ducked his gaze apologetically. "I wasn't even aware she was controlling me until…recently."

"That's no excuse," Dean argued. He let out a breath. "At least we got you back."

Fear gripped Castiel, and he jerked backward. "Dean, I can't wake up. She might find me again, and I can't risk it."

"Cas, you broke the connection, remember?"

"And she's been trying to get it back." He tried to push Dean away, but the Winchester refused to release him.

"Then we'll deal with it," Dean said staunchly.

Castiel shot him a pleading look. "Dean,  _please_."

"I left you in Purgatory," he said gruffly. "I am not leaving you here."

"I don't want to hurt you," Castiel whispered.

Dean met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "Cas, I need you."

He sagged under the words, the same ones he'd heard in the crypt. The same ones that had stalled his mission and somehow spared Dean's life. How could Castiel refuse?

He let Dean help him stand, and then allowed the Winchester to guide him out of the darkness.

_Your heaven's trying everything  
_ _Your heaven's trying everything to break me down_

Castiel opened his eyes and found himself laying on a soft mattress in a strange room with brick walls and no windows. There was minimalist furniture, suggesting this was a living quarters and not a cell. Dean was reclining in a chair by the bed and Sam was standing over him.

"Cas," the younger Winchester breathed. "Are you okay?"

Castiel looked around warily. It  _felt_  real. "I don't know," he said honestly.

Dean stood up. "We'll find a way to ward you for good from Naomi. We've already got Kevin working on the Angel Tablet."

Castiel pushed himself upright and slid back against the headboard. "It was dangerous bringing me here."

"The place is already warded against everything imaginable," Sam assured him. "Even angels."

Oh. Castiel wondered if that was why Naomi had failed to sink her claws into him successfully.

But all that meant was he was imprisoned here.

There were several beats of awkward silence before Sam cleared his throat.

"I'm gonna start looking through the archives here. Maybe there's something that can help." He excused himself from the room.

Dean lingered.

Castiel forced himself to look up at Dean, and was relieved to see there was no sign of the brutal beating he'd endured. But the images were still seared into Castiel's memory.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"It wasn't you."

Castiel straightened slightly. "Where's my angel blade?"

"I grabbed it," Dean replied. "It's still in the Impala." He paused. "Do you need it…?"

Castiel tensed, and shook his head. "No. No, you keep it. Just- just in case."

Dean's expression hardened. "It won't come to that."

"It might."

"It won't."

"Dean,  _please_." His voice broke. "If she finds me…I would rather die than have her tear into my head and unmake me again."

A muscle in Dean's cheek ticked. "I won't let her take you," he said darkly.

Castiel thought it a hollow promise, because Dean was just a man and Naomi was an angel.

But a small part of him also felt a flicker of relief. Dean always kept his promises.

After several more moments of uncomfortable silence, Dean finally shifted and turned toward the door. He wavered on the threshold.

"We'll figure it out, Cas," he said, and then left.

Castiel drew his knees up and hugged them close to his chest. He was safe now. He was with the Winchesters, who seemed determined to stick by him, in spite of everything that had happened. They were still his friends. And they wouldn't surrender him without a fight.

So maybe, just maybe, with them at his back, Castiel would never, truly, break.


	16. "Precious" - Depeche Mode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song suggested by an anon on tumblr.
> 
> Song: "Precious" by Depeche Mode  
> Setting: Season 11, mixture of canon and AU  
> Characters: Sam, Castiel, Dean  
> Summary: What will it take for the Winchesters to realize just how broken their angel is? And will it be in time to save him?

 

* * *

"Precious" - Depeche Mode

_Precious and fragile things_  
_Need special handling_  
_My God what have we done to you_  
_We always tried to share_  
_The tenderest of care  
_ _Now look what we have put you through_

Sam wrung out the excess water from the rag he'd just soaked, blood leaving a pink tinge, and turned back to wipe clean more of Cas's battered face. But the angel flinched away from him violently, eyes as muted red as the sullied water. Sam froze, and waited for it to pass. Cas seemed to have a hold on the attack dog curse, but every so often he'd jerk and twitch as though with a seizure. He'd snarled at Dean when the hunter had made a sudden movement, though Cas's expression had instantly crumpled with devastation when he came back to himself.

Dean had left after that, claiming he was going to get more bandages. Sam hadn't said anything. He'd simply taken a seat on the edge of the bed they'd laid Cas on and started patching the angel up, careful to keep his movements slow and gentle. It helped, but it was clear Rowena's curse was ripping Cas apart on the inside. The torture he'd endured from the angels wasn't helping things, either.

Sam's heart constricted with guilt. He was the one who'd left Cas with Rowena and Crowley, telling the angel to do whatever it took to save Dean from the Mark.

And he had. But Rowena had escaped with the Book of the Damned and the Codex, and nearly killed Cas on her way out.

He could still be dying.

Cas shivered, eyelids peeling open as he turned a bleary, bloodshot gaze to Sam. "Please, help me," he rasped for the third time. He'd been more or less delirious from blood loss since the Winchesters had come home and found him on the floor in the bunker library.

"We are," Sam replied, dabbing the damp cloth against a long cut on Cas's cheek. "We're gonna fix this, okay?"

If only he had a clue how to. Not just the attack dog curse, but the fact that the Darkness, some primordial evil, was now free and the world in danger again. He and Dean really needed to start working on that problem, too, but right now Cas needed them more.

The angel had always done whatever it took to help the Winchesters, and so many times they'd let him down in return. Sam vowed not to make that mistake again.

_Things get damaged_  
_Things get broken_  
_I thought we'd manage_  
_But words left unspoken_  
_Left us so brittle  
_ _There was so little left to give_

Dean had gone to the bunker's infirmary to gather up a bunch of medical supplies. He didn't know how much Cas would need, but by the looks of it, the angel wasn't healing like normal at all. Rowena's curse was probably blocking his powers. Or eating away at them.

Dean shook that thought off as he hastily scooped up an armful of antiseptic, sutures, and gauze, and then started making his way back to the dormitory wing.

He slowed as he crossed the library, gaze instantly going to the pile of books Cas had been lying behind when they'd found him. Incidentally, the same pile of books where Dean had left the angel, beaten and broken, the last time he'd seen him. And for a split moment when Dean had first swept into the library, braced for an intruder, he thought his conscience was projecting his guilt again, reminding him that even with the Mark, he'd gone too far.

But Sam had shot him a wide-eyed look, proving Cas wasn't a hallucination, but really there. And really hurt.

Again.

Dean wrenched away from the site and quickened his pace down the corridor. But as he came to the door of the room they'd designated as Cas's, he faltered again. Peeking around the corner, he watched Cas writhe and whimper as Sam gently wiped away the blood from around a stab wound in Cas's stomach.

Dean felt fury bubble up at the bastards who'd done this, but it was quickly redirected at himself. He'd done the exact same thing. Beaten his best friend to a bloody pulp and left him lying on the floor, choking on his own blood.

Dean wanted to apologize, to beg forgiveness. But the words disintegrated on his tongue and asphyxiated in his throat. No amount of apologies could fix what he'd done.

All he could do now was nut up and find a way to remove this curse. And hope it wasn't too little, too late.

_Angels with silver wings_  
_Shouldn't know suffering_  
_I wish I could take the pain for you_  
_If God has a master plan_  
_That only He understands  
_ _I hope it's your eyes He's seeing through_

Sam watched the light in Cas's eyes dim bit by bit as Dean reamed the angel for letting Metatron go. He wanted to tell his brother to lay off, but then Cas was retaliating by asking how Amara had gotten away, which of course put Dean on the defensive.

When the argument was over, Dean retreated to the kitchen for a beer, and Cas disappeared even more quickly. Sam tracked the angel down in his room and rapped his knuckles lightly on the door.

At first there was no response, but then, quietly, "Come in."

Sam eased the door open, squinting at how dark it was inside. Like a dungeon.

Or a tomb.

Cas was in the process of taking off his coat, which he dropped unceremoniously over the back of the chair, and then turned around. There was a prominent slump in his shoulders, like every ounce of life had drained out of him between here and the war room.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Cas said dejectedly. "I- I need a little more time."

Sam frowned. He'd told Dean they needed to get Cas back in the game. Yeah, he'd been pretty beaten up by Rowena's curse, but he'd had a lot of time to rest and recover, and the Netflix binge watching had started to become a bad habit. Or so it had seemed every time Sam had peeked in and saw Cas lounging in bed with a mellow look plastered on his face.

Seeing him now, though, Sam could tell there  _was_  something deeply wrong.

He shut the door behind him. "What happened with Metatron?"

"I told you, he's no threat now," Cas repeated, tone and eyes deadened.

"No, I mean—what happened between you two? You seem…troubled by something."

Cas looked away. "He tried to provoke me into killing him. He hates being human."

Sam waited a beat. "Okay…"

Cas shifted. "But the things he said…he wasn't necessarily wrong."

"Like what?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Sam pressed, taking a step closer.

Cas flinched slightly. Not by much, but enough to remind Sam of when he'd been under the attack dog curse, and it made his chest tighten with uncertainty. The fidgetiness, the avoidance…Cas couldn't be suffering from PTSD, could he? It sounded silly for an angel, and yet, now that Sam had thought of it, all the pieces seemed to fall into perfect place.

"Cas, you can talk to me," he persisted.

Cas continued to stare at the floor. "Dean once called me a hammer."

Sam quirked his brows in confusion, but didn't interrupt.

"I told him I wasn't a tool, that I had doubts. …That I had fears." Cas swallowed hard. "But in everything I have ever done, I have always been manipulated by someone else."

Sam was quiet for a moment, waiting to see if Cas would continue. When he didn't, he said tentatively, "I'm sorry. We shouldn't have pushed you to get back out in the field. But you're not a tool, Cas." Sam hesitated. "And I'm sorry if Dean and I ever made you feel that way."

Cas didn't say anything, and still wouldn't meet Sam's eyes. Sam ached for him, and wished he could do more to help, to take some of his friend's pain away. How had they let it come to this?

"I'll still help with the Darkness," Cas finally said. "I just…we don't know where she is now anyway."

"Don't worry about it."

Of course, they could use Cas's help, and Sam had actually wanted to mention the visions he'd been getting, but he didn't want to push Cas before he was ready. And besides that, Sam wasn't sure how Cas would react to the idea that God was reaching out to Sam—and not Cas. Never Cas. The most faithful angel that ever was, who only ever tried to do the right thing…and was broken for it.

_Things get damaged_  
_Things get broken_  
_I thought we'd manage_  
_But words left unspoken_  
_Left us so brittle  
_ _There was so little left to give_

"I never wanted this, you know," Castiel said as he trailed behind Ambriel in the woods. "To be hated by my own kind, I never…"

"Oh, no, I don't hate you, Castiel," she said.

He felt a stitch loosen in his chest to hear those words from one of his siblings. "Thank you."

"I mean, we have a lot in common," she went on. "Our names rhyme, that's a big one. I look good in a trench coat too, and we're both expendable."

Castiel pulled up short. "Excuse me?"

"Well, that's why we're here, right?" she said, turning around to give him a sympathetic look. "I'm a number cruncher, and you…like I said, I've heard the stories. You help. But Sam and Dean Winchester are the real heroes. So, if the Darkness is still alive and she's pissed…and she kills us…no big loss. So sure, maybe we're not super important, but we do the job. You know…I think there's nobility in that."

Ambriel started walking again, but Castiel didn't move. Her words pierced down to his core like barbs—and rang with cold hard truth. He didn't want to be a tool. But in the end, maybe that's really all he was. And not even a very good one anymore, but a damaged and broken one. Scarred deep, just like Metatron had said.

"Blue eyes, you're not even worth the effort…and no offense, but you look a bit used up," Amara simpered, brushing a hand across Castiel's cheek.

And he hadn't been able to fight back, hadn't been able to do anything against her power. Even releasing him had been nothing more than the Darkness using him to her own purposes, her warning carved into his chest. Castiel realized in that moment that there was nothing he could contribute in the fight against her.

But when, only minutes later, Castiel found himself in the Cage facing down Lucifer in order to save Sam, he realized he  _did_  have one last thing he could give.

And all the words that had whittled him down to this one moment culminated in his last bid to be of use. Because that was his purpose, after all.

"Then yes."

_I pray you learn to trust_  
_Have faith in both of us  
_ _And keep room in your hearts for two_

The holy fire crackled and snapped, casting a hellish glow over Cas's face. Its flames flickered in the angel's pupils, shining back with none other than the Devil's malevolent intent. Dean swallowed bile as he slit his palm and slammed it on the specially prepared sigil. Cas's body jerked and contorted.

"Cas!" he shouted. "Castiel, show yourself!"

A ragged breath escaped the imprisoned angel, and Cas squinted up at them. "Dean?"

"Cas," he breathed. It had worked.

"What are you doing?" Cas blinked in confusion. "What's- what's going on?"

"Cas, listen to me," Dean said urgently. "We don't have a whole lot of time, okay? You have got to kick Lucifer out! Expel him!"

Cas frowned. "What? No. You need him."

"No, we don't," Sam jumped in. "Listen, Lucifer didn't beat the Darkness on his own before. He can't do it now."

"But he could still help."

"Not at the cost of losing you," Dean snapped. "Dammit, Cas, expel him before it's too late!"

Cas shook his head, almost as though he was wading through a brain fog. "But…the Darkness is too powerful. I'm not- I'm not strong enough on my own."

"You're not on your own," Dean pressed. "We'll handle it. The three of us, just like always." He stepped closer to the ring of holy fire, sweltering heat wafting against his jeans. "We need you."

"I know. You need me to help, need me to do this."

"No, we need  _you_." Dean clenched his fists in frustration and glanced at the simmering sigil. How much longer did they have before Lucifer retook control?

"Cas, you're not a tool," Sam added desperately. "Don't let Lucifer manipulate you like this. We'll find another way."

"Come on, Cas," Dean pleaded. "You gotta trust us. Team Free Will, remember?"

Cas wavered, looking torn in the glint of the firelight. He winced suddenly with a twitch, a shudder rippling through his body.

Dean held his hand out. "Cas, buddy, cast him out. Come home."

Cas finally lifted a pain-filled gaze to his, and Dean's breath nearly stole from his lungs at the look of utter anguish in his best friend's eyes. Dean stood firm, his own expression imploring.

Cas flinched again, more violently. Lucifer was regaining control. Dean felt his hope get crushed in that moment, until Cas straightened and his eyes began to glow blue.

_Things get damaged_  
_Things get broken_  
_I thought we'd manage_  
_But words left unspoken_  
_Left us so brittle  
_ _There was so little left to give_

Sam stood in the doorway of Cas's room, silently watching over Dean while Dean watched over their angel as he slept. Ejecting Lucifer had been a fierce battle of hurricane gales and an explosive supernova that had left Cas severely injured and weakened. At least Rowena had kicked Lucifer's ass back to the Cage, and then the Winchesters had gotten Cas back to the safety of the bunker as quickly as possible. But wounds to his grace weren't easily mended.

Nor were mental ones.

They'd managed to pull Cas back from the edge. But the words they'd used to convince him to fight should have been said long ago. Maybe then all this could have been avoided. Because Cas may have been free of Lucifer now, but the damage that'd been done still remained, both from the Devil's fire and everything that had brought Cas so low to begin with. Sam had known the angel was struggling; he just hadn't realized how deeply, and he wasn't ignorant enough to not know that he and Dean had had a role in Cas's fall.

They'd said the three of them would take on the Darkness, but the truth was Sam didn't know how they were going to do that when one of their own still needed saving. Sam didn't even know where to begin to help Cas. All three of them were broken, really. Dean was still dealing with the trauma from the Mark; Sam with the guilt of unleashing the Darkness and his own mental scars that'd been torn open with Lucifer's return. And it wasn't like either Winchester was great at dealing with emotional baggage to begin with. Maybe if they were, all three of them wouldn't be so far down these paths of self-destruction.

But they were united once more. And so they would either shatter together…or find the strength to hold each other up.


	17. "Sound The Bugle" - Bryan Adams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song is special to me. It's from the animated movie, Spirit, but it has been what I consider one of my "life songs." Its lyrics are something I've felt poignantly in the darkest times of my life, because while it starts off sad and depressing, it ends with a stirring call to get up and remember how to fight. I had a really rough summer, and am still working on recovering, and so was reminded of this song.
> 
> To everyone going through dark times, whether it be past, present, or future: always keep fighting.
> 
> Song: "Sound the Bugle" by Bryan Adams  
> Setting: Post season 11, AU  
> Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam  
> Summary: Castiel has nothing left to give.

 

* * *

"Sound The Bugle" - Bryan Adams

_Sound the bugle now, play it just for me_  
_As the seasons change, remember how I used to be_  
_Now I can't go on, I can't even start  
_ _I've got nothing left, just an empty heart_

Castiel lay on his bed in the bunker, staring at the dark screen of the laptop on the dresser across from him. With just a few clicks, he could pull up any show and let his mind check out while getting lost in the mundane dramas, or the epics where heroes always triumphed and came out of the battle unscathed.

Unlike him. Or, rather, not anymore.

Once, he had been a fierce warrior, braving Hellfire and brimstone, standing against Destiny, declaring war on an archangel. And though he had certainly had his low points during those times, he had stood firm and succeeded because of it.

Well, partially succeeded. He'd also made horrible mistakes, caused horrific, irreparable harm to so many. He'd been trying to fix it ever since, trying to do penance and earn redemption. It was never enough, though.

He'd finally given the last thing he had to offer—his vessel. To Lucifer, no less. Oh, how far Castiel had fallen. And in the end, it hadn't really made that much of a difference. God had come back. For Lucifer. Not for Castiel.

Never for Castiel.

He'd had to sit in silence, trapped within his own body, and watch Lucifer air all of  _his_  grievances to their father. How many times had Castiel spoken similar words? Pleaded for guidance, and for help. And then his father was only a few feet away from him, and Castiel was invisible.

Lucifer was later killed in the first battle. Castiel wondered why he'd been spared yet again. Part of him had been hoping for peace after this last act of sacrifice to save his loved ones and the world.

Castiel had barely recovered when Chuck had a change of heart and made amends with his sister. And then Castiel was left behind once more, without a word or explanation.

But then what would his father want with a broken soldier who never could do the right thing? Castiel couldn't hope to earn an absent father's approval.

He couldn't hope to earn his friends' forgiveness for letting Lucifer out of the Cage. Sam and Dean had been giving him space since they'd returned to the bunker. Sam had gotten him his own laptop so he wouldn't have to keep borrowing theirs. He was being stashed away until they needed him.

But Castiel had nothing left to give.

Netflix was only a click away, yet he didn't even have the strength to get off the bed and turn the laptop on.

_I'm a soldier, wounded so I must give up the fight_  
_There's nothing more for me, lead me away...  
_ _Or leave me lying here_

With the Darkness and Lucifer gone, there wasn't actually a big threat out there. Castiel heard snatches of conversations from the Winchesters talking about going on hunts again. There would always be ghosts and monsters in the world.

Sam brought the topic up one of the times Castiel was in the kitchen, and looked to the angel in question. Castiel just stared blankly at him. If they were asking for his help on a case, he would be absolutely useless. His grace was battered and frayed from his time being possessed by Lucifer's tainted essence, and the torture they'd endured from Amara hadn't helped. Yes, God had deigned to heal them on the outside, but Castiel had deep, internal wounds that remained as raw as open and bleeding sores.

And while in the past he had always been able to rally himself, to push down his guilt and anguish and throw himself into whatever needed to be done, this time he just didn't have it in him.

When he didn't respond to Sam, the younger Winchester looked away awkwardly, and Castiel turned and left the kitchen. He paused in the hallway at the juncture to the war room and gazed up at the front door. He really should go. He had nothing to contribute, nothing to make it worth the Winchesters putting up with his presence.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to move. Where would he even go?

So he stayed, because it was too hard to leave.

_Sound the bugle now, tell them I don't care_  
_There's not a road I know that leads to anywhere_  
_Without a light, I fear that I will stumble in the dark  
_ _Lay right down, decide not to go on_

He couldn't stand their stares and heated whispers. Sam thought he should get out on a hunt. Dean thought they should leave him alone. He was either needed to be of use or a burden to shun. It wasn't anything Castiel didn't already know. Hadn't already experienced numerous times before.

Be useful or go away. Go away to be useful.

He couldn't take it anymore. And so for the first time in weeks, he left the comfort of his self-inflicted prison and slipped out into the midwinter night. With nowhere to go, he simply picked a direction and started walking, his steps stumbling under the canopy of trees as he pushed his way further into the woodland surrounding the bunker.

He came out in a clearing and angled his head back to look at the sky. The stars were hidden, leaving him in utter darkness, as though they, too, had shunned him. He had once flown among them, a creature of magnificence and grace, shining as brightly as any one of the celestial bodies.

Now he was nothing.

Castiel sank to his knees, the icy ground instantly seeping through the thin fabric of his slacks. From the pitch night sky, snow began to fall. Flakes stung his skin where they alighted on his cheeks. He didn't attempt to rise, though. He didn't have the strength.

He didn't even care at this point, really. He'd outlived his service and usefulness. He'd been holding on lately, but to what? And why?

As the freezing temperature began to burrow into his bones and numb his vessel, Castiel thought he would sit there, and maybe he could just…drift away.

_Then from on high, somewhere in the distance_  
_There's a voice that calls, "Remember who you are._  
_If you lose yourself, your courage soon will follow.  
_ _So be strong tonight. Remember who you are."_

Castiel's vision was coated in white snowflakes. He only felt the cold on a small level now, the majority of his body having been anesthetized by the permeating chill. The night was still and silent, and Castiel faded into the landscape like a lone statue unable to withstand the devouring forces of nature.

Then, ever so softly, he thought he heard his name, whispered on a non-existent wind. It called to him again, distant and faint, and he wondered if the stars were reaching out to him once more.

Blinking, he tilted his head up barely a fraction, and saw wisps of cloud parting against the midnight backdrop, revealing sapphire spheres sparkling in the night sky. They were so far away, and yet for a brief moment, Castiel could remember what it was like to soar among them, for his wings to scatter stardust across the cosmos, for his grace to radiate with heavenly glory and send the fiends of Hell fleeing in terror of divine wrath and might.

He once commanded armies as vast and glittering as the stars in the heavens.

But he'd lost his wings long ago, and himself long before that.

Castiel averted his gaze from the sky. The stars continued to whisper to him, however, until their voices were gradually replaced with a louder one—Dean.

There was a shout and rushed crunching of snow, and suddenly Dean was dropping to the ground in front of Castiel, hands lashing out to grip his arms hard.

"Cas!"

He lifted his gaze sluggishly to find Dean's anxious eyes searching his worriedly, and Castiel realized he was half covered in snow. His fingertips where they poked out of the snowdrift blanketing him were blue.

"Dammit," Dean cursed, squeezing tighter and tugging as though to prod Castiel into standing. "Come on, get up."

"I can't," Castiel said hollowly, his own voice sounded far away.

Dean's eyes narrowed sharply. "Why not? What's wrong?"

Castiel sagged in on himself, shoulders curling forward. "I'm tired."

Dean stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment before the weight behind his words seemed to sink in. Then his fingernails were practically digging into Castiel's biceps.

"Shit. You can't do this, Cas. Not after everything we've been through!"

Castiel shook his head. "I have nothing left to give."

"That's bullcrap."

He sighed; of course Dean expected more of him. But Castiel just didn't have it within himself to give it.

"Cas," Dean pressed. "This isn't you."

No, it wasn't. But he supposed he hadn't been himself for a while now.

"You never give up," Dean went on urgently. "You throw yourself into what you believe in and never hit the brakes, even when sometimes you should. Even when you get knocked down, you come back swinging. You have to keep fighting, man. Me and Sam need you. Okay?  _I_  need you."

Castiel's face pinched with anguish. "Dean, I  _can't_. I- I don't know how to keep going anymore."

"You just do. We'll help you, okay?" Dean hung his head. "We should have helped you sooner. I should have helped you sooner. Sam knew something was wrong, but I thought giving you space would help you work it out on your own." He raised his head staunchly. "I'm gonna do better, Cas, I promise. But you have to try."

Castiel wavered. It would be so much easier to give up, to stay here and let nature claim him, gradually absorbing him into the landscape. Maybe if it turned his vessel to ice, the rest of him could finally sleep.

But that wasn't who he was.

He craned his neck back to look at the stars once more. It had stopped snowing, and they shone bright and clear in the now cloudless sky. He almost thought he heard the echo of them beckoning, and a softer voice from even further.

_"Remember who you are, son."_

_You're a soldier now, fighting in a battle_  
_To be free once more  
_ _Yeah, that's worth fighting for_

He was a soldier. An angel of the Lord. A warrior. He did not lay down and die, especially when there was a battle to fight.

And there was, just not the kind he was used to. The world didn't need saving this time—he did.

Dean's eyes were begging him to get up, and though it was hard, Castiel started to move. The snowdrift shifted, falling away as he tried to pull his legs out. Dean's grip tightened, bracing him as he struggled to stand, his limbs having lost circulation long ago. He stumbled once upright, but Dean held onto him.

They turned back toward the bunker, each step heavy and weighted. Castiel's body wasn't responding well, and Dean ended up slinging his arm over one shoulder.

There was a distant call in the woods, something that sounded like Castiel's name, and he automatically turned his head up toward the stars again, seeking out their encouragement.

Dean answered the voice, though, shouting out, "I found him!"

A few moments later, Sam came lumbering through the snow, breaths puffing out in rapid white bursts. His eyes widened when he saw them.

"What happened?"

"He got a little lost," Dean replied first, his tone a tad gruff.

Castiel didn't bother correcting him, because in a manner of speaking, it was true.

And that was the battle that now lay ahead of him—to find himself again, to be free from these chains that had weighed him down for so long.

But as Sam ducked in to support Castiel's other side, both Winchesters hemming him in with a protectiveness and care so rarely expressed toward him, he remembered what was worth fighting for.


End file.
